White Wolf
by Cruellae
Summary: It was the first time in a long time he'd felt something besides anger, something undefinable rising up within him whenever she smiled.  Hawke, through the eyes of a wolf.  Hawke/Fenris, M rated.
1. Finding Hawke

The lyrium glowed a dull white, but against his skin it was as hot as a bright flame, and he had to look down at his chest to see the skin was still intact. Another lyrium needleprick and he could not stop himself from crying out. The magister's deliberate hands had no mercy, his eyes were cold and detached. The master watched, curious, as though he were staring at a strange creature exhibiting some interesting new behavior.

He begged them to stop, tears rolling down his cheeks. He thrashed against the bounds that held him securely to the table. The magister was angry at the disruption of his work.

"His eyes," said the master, from his corner of the room.

The magister nodded, lifting the burning flask of lyrium above his face, the searing droplets dripping from the lip of the glass container.

Fenris awoke to screaming, and it took him a while to realize the cries were his own. He shuddered, remembering both the dream and the reality on which it was based. He sat up in the dark room and pulled his knees to his chest, hands shaking.

Moonlight fell through the window opposite him, glowing white like the cursed lyrium. It splashed on the floor and lit up the whole room in a dim, ghastly glow. The room was orderly, if a bit dusty, a pile of books stacked on the bedside table, the bed made and adorned with heavy pillows.

Fenris slept on the floor, near the door, positioned so that if someone entered the room, they would not immediately see him. He did not mind the floor, and it was safer to sleep where no one expected you to. He had never really slept in a bed, not that he could remember, anyway. And it seemed particularly repulsive to sleep in a bed his former master had once occupied.

He moved quietly through the house, footsteps soft and deliberate on the thick, luxurious carpet—a horrid shade of maroon. He stirred the coals in the fireplace until he had a small blaze to sit by, a warm yellow glow to banish the darkness.

It had been a strange evening. Fenris had hired swords before, whenever he could afford it, but never with as much secrecy as this time. He was unsure of Anso's ability to discern which mercenaries could stand up to the skilled slavers Danarius had sent, mages among them, and when he saw their number, he feared he'd sent his hires to their death.

But they'd survived, better than survived, they had felled at least a dozen slavers with little more than a few scratches to the four of them.

They were undoubtedly the strangest band of mercenaries he'd ever seen. The dwarf carried the largest crossbow he'd ever seen, and the young man wielded a greatsword the equal of his own. The obvious leader had soft, lovely features, dark eyes and hair cut short and shaggy. She looked too sweet for mercenary work, but the long, gleaming daggers on her back were covered in blood.

She didn't flinch when he ripped the heart out of the slaver's leader, just watched the man stagger and fall, and then turned to him with curious eyes.

"Nice trick," said the dwarf, a grin on his face.

"I am Fenris," he said. "I apologize for the secrecy, but the slavers were trying to lure me out into the open. I needed to hire help without alerting them. A crude trap, but it might have been effective if not for your aid."

"Sarah Hawke," she said, extending a hand. "Those men were slavers?"

"Yes. They were after me. My former master undoubtedly sent them to recapture me."

She smiled at him. "Well, if it means we killed slavers, I'm glad we helped."

He nodded, never taking his gaze from her face.

"You know, you don't have to lie to me to get my help," she said.

"We shall see," he replied. She tilted her head to the side and looked at him, again with the wide curious eyes. "My former master may be in town," he said. "I will need your help to confront him."

There was a hint of a gleam in her eye, a sign that perhaps, for all her sweet words, she was not too opposed to violence after all.

They were attacked three times on the way to the residential section of Hightown. Hawke and her crew fought as a single unit, deadly and precise, and he took some pleasure in watching them in action. Most mercenaries were sloppy and uncoordinated, but she moved with a disciplined grace that was surprising in a Kirkwall street rat.

Fenris kicked open the door to the mansion. "Danarius," he yelled. "I am coming for you."

Hawke gave him a curt nod just as three shades emerged from the shadowy corners of the room. He hefted his greatsword, the familiar weight reassuring him that he was in control. Small tendrils of fear curled through the anger in his chest, but he pushed them away. He had to be in control. This could be his chance.

The mansion was empty, except for the army of shades and demons that had given them a fight in every room. Fenris felt like a deflated balloon, his anger slipping away, disappointment taking its place.

"I'm sorry," said Hawke.

"It…does not matter any longer," he said. He left them there to loot the valuables the previous owner had left behind, and left the house. He leaned against the wall of the house, watching the empty street. He tried to think ahead, to formulate a plan, a new place to run to…but it seemed hollow. There was no point to it, no purpose any more. He would run for the rest of his life, or he would die at the magisters' hands, and at the moment, he was not sure which fate was worse.

"It is no use," he said, as Hawke walked out the door and stood facing him in the street. Again she tilted her head, as if to say _whatever do you mean?_

And something compelled him to explain it to her, or at least to try.

"I left a land of dark magic just to have it hunt me at every turn. " he said.

"That's a lot of work to recapture a single slave," she said. The way she said it made it a question.

"Danarius does not want me," he explained. "Only the markings on my skin. They are lyrium, meant to provide the power he needed in his pet." He spat the final word, it tasted foul on his tongue. "He'll almost certainly kill me once he finds me, because he only needs my skin."

"Seems like a waste of a perfectly handsome elf," said Hawke, and he looked up at her, trying to see mockery in her face, but there was none. Her eyes were dark and sincere. He chuckled, cleared his throat, both awkward and pleased.

"If you're staying in Kirkwall," she said, "come work with me. I'm planning an expedition into the deep roads." She gave him a wry smile. "It will make us all rich."

He nodded. "If you have need of me, I would be happy to join you."

"Good," she said, and grinned, this time a wide, genuine smile. "We meet up at the Hanged Man, late morning. I'll see you then."


	2. The adorable elf

Note: Thank you everyone for all the reviews and alerts! You guys are awesome! This chapter is rewritten now thanks to feedback from Crystal Night, whose critiques are super helpful!

Also, this story contains references to rape, so please read with caution. I would hate to upset or trigger anyone!

_

* * *

_

Flurries of anticipation gathered in Fenris's stomach as he walked to the Hanged Man. He'd never had a job before, and it felt strangely liberating and exciting to stop running, to find a place he might belong, if only for a little while.

He looked around the dirty tavern, but did not see Hawke or her companions. The barkeep looked him over and then grunted.

"Hawke's in the back," he said. "Up the stairs and straight ahead."

"Thank you," said Fenris. He moved quietly and cautiously to the door and listened for a moment before entering. It could be a trap—it never hurt to be too careful, but he heard Hawke's voice, soft and carefree, and pushed the door open.

"Fenris!" she said, turning to him. There was something strange and intense in her gaze, but her smile was wide and sincere.

Fenris returned the smile with a small one of his own. He was rather unaccustomed to the gesture. He looked around the room. The dwarf, Varric, was present, sitting at a table with another man, a tall blonde man who was surrounded by a faint residue of magic, as though…

Fenris glanced around the room and there it was, a mage's staff, leaning against the wall behind the blonde man. He stiffened, immediately tense and on guard.

"I did not realize you counted a mage among your companions," he said to Hawke.

"Right," she said. "This is Anders. Anders, this is Fenris. We met him last night. He's going to be working with us."

The two men glared at each other from across the room.

"I will be watching you, mage," said Fenris, speaking the last word as though it were an insult.

"I will be watching you, creep," said Anders.

"Right," said Hawke. "It's a lovely day to go kill stuff. Don't ruin it with fighting."

Varric smiled up at her, indulgently. "Where are we going today, boss?" he said.

"The Wounded Coast," she replied. "We have mercenaries to kill, and I have a debt to repay."

"Hate to break it to you," replied the dwarf, "but we're broke."

"It's not that kind of debt."

_

* * *

_

The Dalish were suspicious. Fenris could feel their eyes on him. He was used to the effect his appearance had on people, but it still irked him to be stared at. The elves' hands all lingered on their weapons until the Keeper of the clan greeted Hawke.

The Keeper told Hawke her debt was not yet repaid. Hawke frowned, but looked as though she had been expecting this.

"Take the amulet to the top of the mountain and perform our Dalish ritual for the dead on it. Then your debt will be repaid."

"Will you teach me the ritual?" asked Hawke.

"I will send my First with you," said the Keeper. "She will perform the ritual. And I would ask that you take her with you when you go."

"She wants to go to Kirkwall? Whatever for?" said Hawke.

"She is taking a different path," said the Keeper. Fenris sighed. Always with the mystery. It seemed no one could ever be upfront with what they wanted.

"A different path?" asked Hawke.

"You can ask her yourself," said the Keeper. "She is waiting for you on the path."

The mountain path was lovely, soft green grass spongy beneath his feet. It was not difficult to walk softly here, and he let down his guard a bit. The sun was bright and beautiful, leafy trees casting dappled shadows on the ground. It had been a long time since he was able to simply enjoy the feeling of the sun on his shoulders. Hawke seemed calm and relaxed, and somehow that made him feel as though they were safe.

The First was waiting for them beneath a tall oak. She was a slender, lovely elf with wide eyes that regarded them curiously.

"I'm Merril," she said, speaking to Hawke as everyone seemed to do. It was strange how easily everyone they encountered realized Hawke was their unquestioned leader.

Fenris paid little attention to their conversation, something about an "asha'bellanar" and a Dalish ritual. It made no sense to him. He did catch Merrill's comment about "dark things" afoot in the mountain, and shifted his shoulders, feeling the familiar weight of his sword. The steel never failed to comfort him. His own strength and skill were the only things he had relied on for the past three years, and they had yet to fail him.

They started up the mountain, but the ground beneath them burst forth with half a dozen armed corpses. They were skeletal beings, scraps of armor hanging off of dirty bones, rusty blades in their bony hands. He ran forward, hefting his greatsword, and sliced through one of them, splitting the creature in two with a heavy blow.

Hawke slipped into the shadows beneath a tree, and almost entirely disappeared for a second, before driving her two daggers into the back of another skeleton. The creature turned on her, raising its blade, and Fenris ran towards it. But before he reached it, a bolt of lightning zapped it, dazing the creature. He turned and saw Merrill, hands outstretched, chanting a spell.

As suddenly as it had begun, the fight was over.

_Two mages. He was in the company of two mages. _

"The Keeper didn't say you were a mage," said Hawke, looking at Merrill.

Fenris scowled. "Difficult to give away something nobody wants," he said.

Merrill's eyes dropped to the ground, her mouth drooping at the corners as though she had been hit. Hawke glared at Fenris, and he was surprised to feel a hint of shame at her obvious disapproval, though he had only spoken the truth.

"All Keepers know magic," Merrill said, as though it should have been obvious.

"Thanks for pitching in back there," said Hawke, and the girl immediately brightened.

"Oh! I've never really fought before," said Merrill. "I didn't know if I'd be any good."

"Well, feel free to keep zapping monsters for us," said Hawke. "I have a feeling there will be more fighting before we're through."

She was right. They encountered many more skeletons on the path, and then they traveled through a cave full of spiders, only to find themselves in front of a glowing barrier.

"I can dispel that," said Merrill, stepping forward. Hawke nodded at her. The girl took out a knife and cut her hand, and Fenris could feel the fell rush of blood magic surround her.

_No mage can be trusted,_ he thought. _Not even the innocent, sweet looking elf girls. _

"Foolish," he said to the girl. "Very foolish." But Merril ignored him, her wide eyes turned to Hawke as though none of the rest of them existed.

"Fenris is right," said Hawke. "There has to be a better way."

Merril turned her gaze down and trudged forward. Fenris caught Hawke's eye, and she shrugged, her gesture saying _I don't like it any more than you do. _There was a bit of anxiety in her gaze, and something else.

Why did she persist in looking at him like that? Was it pity in her eyes? Did he look so strange to her?

He had no time to dwell on it, as more skeletons and even an arcane horror rose from the ground to try and take them down.

In battle his doubts, his fears, even his hate was like a distant, misty background. All that mattered was the moment, the swing of his sword, the dance of his feet, the sound of metal clashing and the spectre of Hawke, dancing in and out of shadows across the field.

The meadow cleared of the undead for the time being, they walked to the altar, and Hawke handed an amulet to Merrill. The elf set it on the altar, and chanted a few lines in the Dalish tongue. The sky darkened and a great swirl of smoke rose from the altar. An old woman stepped forward, dressed in elegant maroon armor and crowned by white hair.

"A witch," he murmured, hands itching to draw his sword, but he held back. Hawke did not seem surprised, and her hands were nowhere near her daggers, so he remained still. How she had become his leader in so short a time was something he'd have to ponder, later.

Merrill bowed towards the witch, and Fenris frowned at her. Was there any sort of magical perversion the elf was not a part of?

"A bit of security, should the inevitable occur," said the witch. "And if I know my Morrigan, it already has."

Fenris did not try to make sense of any of the witch's words until Hawke turned to him with a question evident on her face.

"You are a witch, but you are more than that," he said. "I have seen many magicks in my time, and you are like none of them. What are you?"

The witch met his eyes and his challenge.

`"The chains are broken, wolf," she said. "But are you truly free?"

"You..see much," he admitted. Hawke watched him with those damned dark and inscrutable eyes.

"I am a fly in the ointment," said the witch. "I am a whisper in the shadows. I am an old, old woman."

She turned to Hawke.

"I see…so many things for you. So many futures rest in your hand, so many lives and deaths. When the abyss opens before you, I have only one word of advice: fly."

"What does that mean?" asked Hawke.

"Perhaps it is only the words of an old woman or perhaps it is the prophesy of a dragon. You decide, child."

With that the witch turned and became smoky, unfocused, and then somehow she grew and her essence reformed into a great dark dragon. She left them behind, the wind from the great flapping of her wings brushing their cheeks.

They did not talk on the way back to Kirkwall, Hawke and Fenris both pondering the witch's words.

_Nighttime_

That night, someone knocked on his door. He slipped out the window and stepped softly down the street, keeping close to the wall and out of the streetlight.

But it was only Hawke, in her dark leather armor, moving away from the door with disappointment on her face. She pulled her blades as he emerged from the shadows, but put them away again with a smile of recognition.

"It never hurts to be cautious," she said.

He nodded and went to the door. "Come in," he said, hoping it was the right thing to say. He had never been a host before.

Danarius had quite the wine cellar, and included in his collection were six bottles of the fine Aggregio he used to serve to prestigious guests. He poured a glass for Hawke, pushing away memories of pouring it for Danarius's guests.

He drank some himself, from the bottle, but it tasted bitter on his tongue. Another fine thing, ruined by Danarius, ruined by the past he could not put behind him.

He threw the bottle against the wall, where it shattered. Hawke did not flinch.

"It is nice to see I can still enjoy the small things," he said, his tone bitter, brittle.

"This must be difficult for you," she said, softly.

"I cannot leave it behind, no matter how much I might wish to," he replied. The words tumbled out of his mouth, a confession he had not meant to make.

She looked at him again, so strangely.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he said, suddenly angry.

She turned her face away, and he prepared himself for whatever she might say. He searched her face and was surprised to see her cheeks flushed. How odd.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice. It's just that…well…you are very attractive. "

Fenris was silent for a moment, taken aback. No one had ever called him attractive before, unless they were mocking him and his powerlessness to say no. No one had ever spoken to him in that tone, shy but sweet and a little ashamed.

"I'm not very good at flirting," she said.

"Neither am I."

She laughed a little. "I'm glad you decided to join me."

"I've never had a…colleague before. It's surprisingly nice not to fight alone."

"As long as you are in Kirkwall," she said, "you will not have to fight alone." Her tone was surprisingly fierce, protective.

"I…thank you," he said.

"I should have warned you about Anders," she said. "I forget people are uncomfortable with mages."

"I have seen the worst that magic can become," he said. "It always corrupts. It may take some time, but in the end, every mage will bend to it."

"Anders is a good man," she said, softly.

"For how long?" he said.

"Is this…will you work with a mage?" she said.

For a minute he wanted to say no, wanted to make her choose. But he was too afraid of what she might do.

"I will watch him," he said. "But we can work together…for now."

He could see relief in her eyes, and it softened the hard edge magic always brought out in him.

"Tell me more about this city," he said. "I would know more of my new home."

"So you are staying?" she said.

"I might. For the right reasons." He looked at her, and wondered to himself what the right reasons might be, and why it seemed they would all hang on her.

_

* * *

_

Fenris was in Danarius's bedchamber, cold and frightened. The magister stood before him, grinning, mocking.

"You are quite handsome, little wolf," he said. He ran a hand down Fenris's cheek, and as much as he wanted to pull away from the touch, he couldn't. Shame bloomed in his face, hot against his skin. He realized, as Danarius's hand traveled further, that he was naked, unarmed. The magister's fingers were cold, and he shuddered.

Danarius pulled him into a rough kiss, teeth grazing his lips, and Fenris did not move, could not move. In his head, he screamed, _run, run, _but his body, it seemed, was still a slave.

Danarius slapped him, hard, across the face. He tasted blood on his tongue.

"Kiss me back," he said.

Fenris did as he was told.

Danarius shoved him onto the bed, and he could feel the soft brocade quilt beneath his knees as his master grabbed him, fingers digging into his hips hard enough to leave bruises. He looked up and saw Hawke, standing in the corner, in the shadows that suited her so well. She watched, motionless, as Danarius thrust against his hips, and pain shot through him.

He woke, shaking and drenched in sweat. His body felt bruised, dirty.

It was the same dream, he'd had it many times. No matter how hard he fought, when he let his guard down, his shackles seemed to return, fiercer and harsher now that he'd had a taste of freedom. The witch was right. He would never be truly free. He would always be a slave.

Hawke…Hawke deserved better.

He climbed out the window of the second story bedroom and pulled himself up on the roof, where he sat , knees drawn to his chest, shivering from the cold and the lingering dread of his dream, until dawn broke over the city.

P.S. I figured out how to put transitions in! Huzzah!


	3. The right thing

Fenris walked into Varric's suite in the Hanged Man to the sounds of a good-natured argument.

"You're too soft-hearted for your own good, Hawke," the dwarf was saying. "We'll never be able to fund this expedition if we spend all our time helping penniless elves."

"If we can save one mage from the templars, it's worth more than your whole expedition," said Anders.

"Watch it there, blondie," said the dwarf with a good-natured smile, "don't be insulting our expedition. It's what's gonna make our future in this town."

"I already did all the legwork, Varric," said Hawke. "It'll only take half a day at most. I found out where the boy is, we just have to go get him."

"I'll go, but just because I like you, Hawke. Don't let people think I'm a charity or anything," said Varric.

Hawke turned to Fenris.

"I was in the alienage yesterday, visiting Merrill," she said, and Fenris felt a strange stab of jealousy. Of course Hawke visited all her companions, he should have known it was nothing special when she came to see him. Still, it bothered him, and he was unsure why.

"I ran into this elf, talking to a templar about her missing son. She sounded so lost and so desperate, anyone would have stepped in. Anyway, long story short, her son is being held by slavers on the Wounded Coast. They're arranging to send him to Tevinter. We need to head there now to catch them."

"Talking to a templar?" said Fenris. "Her son is a mage, I assume."

Hawke nodded. "He was raised outside the Circle, but he's started having dreams where demons whisper to him. His mother suggested he join the Circle, for his own safety, but he ran away."

"Can you blame him?" said Anders.

"If he's a mage, he belongs in the Circle," said Fenris.

They both looked to Hawke, but she did not offer an opinion. She squared her shoulders and turned towards the door. "Let's get going," she said.

The slaver's leader held a knife to the boy's throat, his guards holding their weapons at the ready. Everyone in the room looked to Hawke, tense, waiting for a battle. Something about the way she stood, perhaps, or the defiance with which she met the slaver's eye—something told them she was the leader.

"Fenyriel, duck," she yelled, and the boy did as he was told. Too fast to follow, a dagger flew through the air and buried itself in the slaver's eye. He staggered backwards and his guards lunged forward, all charging at Hawke.

Fenris ran forward, not thinking, scything through a group of three with his greatsword. He slashed the blade in great arcs, blood flying with every strike until he was covered from head to toe in red splatter. Hawke stepped behind him as another trio of guards rushed them, and he met them, steel on steel while she crept around the side to stab them in the back.

Only a few days and they were already fighting as a team, past the point of needing to speak of strategy and tactics. Fenris barely gave it any thought, instinct propelled him forward to take the brunt of any enemy blows, to protect Hawke and allow her to do what she did best.

He was even beginning to get used to the gentle tingle of Anders's magic, and he had to admit it was beyond useful to have a healer along. The magisters did not often bother to learn more than a basic healing spell or two—healing would not give a magister power to crush his enemies. Anders, however, was a master of the art.

The boy, Fenyriel, cowered through the fight, but as soon as it was done he stepped up to Hawke, towering above her despite his half-elf heritage.

"What were you doing?" he shouted. "You could have killed me!"

Hawke's face betrayed surprise, and a bit of shame.

"You ungrateful brat," said Fenris, with more anger than he intended. "We save you from a life of slavery and all you can do is complain?"

"I am grateful…really, but…"

"Your mother is worried about you," said Hawke.

"Oh, sure," said the boy. "All my life it's 'I'll protect you from the templars' and then I have one bad dream and she's ready to ship me to the circle."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "One bad dream?"

"Okay, maybe more than one. But I can't go to the Gallows! It's a prison! They make you tranquil for the tiniest reasons! I can't go there."

Hawke looked at him for a long time, considering.

"Tell me about your dreams," she said.

"I…I hear demons, whispering to me," he said. "It's frightening, but I would never give in! I know better than that."

Hawke looked at the boy, her eyes hardening. "Go to the Circle," she said.

"I…" the boy looked at her helplessly. He could see, as they all could, that Hawke was not willing to suffer any disagreement. Her gaze was sad but firm, a touch of ruthlessness that Fenris was surprised to see in the woman who had always been so gentle to him.

"Fine, I'll go to prison," said the boy. "I wish you had just left me to the Tevinters."

"You are a fool," said Fenris, clenching his fists at his sides. Hawke caught his eye and shook her head, such a slight movement he almost missed it. _Don't,_ her gesture said, so he held himself together.

They walked out of the slaver cave, into a dim, gray day. The clouds were low to the ground and oppressive, drizzling nonstop. The rain was so soft and light but relentless, and before long they were soaked.

"How could you do that?" said Anders, as they walked together along the path back to Kirkwall. "You know what the Circle is like!"

"I'm sorry, Anders," said Hawke. "I thought it was best."

"We could have sent him to the Dalish! Or given him money to find his own way! There had to be a better option!"

Hawke simply shook her head and watched her feet very closely the rest of the way back to town.

"I'm heading back to my clinic," said Anders as they reached Lowtown. "I have patients to take care of."

Hawke simply nodded at him. Fenris and Varric continued to follow her, though she'd not said where she was going. She led them through Lowtown's winding streets to the Hanged Man just as the sky was darkening and the rain was beginning to get heavier. None of them had spoken since Anders left.

Hawke walked over to the bar. "I need a drink," she said.

"You're buying," said Varric, "and I need one too."

She bought three mugs of low quality ale and the three of them retired to Varric's rooms. The dwarf's quarters were luxurious and surprisingly clean, so much so that they did not seem to belong in the Hanged Man.

Varric spun several tales, each more outrageous than the last, the exaggeration keeping pace with Hawke's drinking until it was quite late and she was more than a little tipsy.

"Walk her home, would you?" Varric said to him. He nodded. It was the least he could do for Hawke. She was in no shape to meet the gangs that lurked in the nighttime streets.

They stepped out into a cold clear night. The clouds had melted away while they drank, and the stars were bright in the sky. The cool air seemed to sober Hawke considerably, only a slight sway in her step gave any hint of intoxication.

"Sit with me a minute," said Hawke, plopping down on the stairs outside her uncle's house. "I'm not quite ready to face them yet."

Fenris was not sure what she meant, but he sat next to her and gazed into the darkened street.

"Tell me I did the right thing today," she said.

He looked at her, a question in his eyes.

"With Fenyriel. Tell me I did the right thing, sending him to the Circle."

"You did the right thing. There is no question," said Fenris, a little shocked. Their fearless leader had doubts? She had not faltered once in battle since he had met her, had never hesitated to kill when necessary. He had never thought she might have doubts.

"Anders is right. The Circle is little more than a prison."

"It is necessary."

"My sister was an apostate. Her whole life, we hid her from the Circle. I lied to more Templars than I can count, led them on wild goose chases, even killed them when it was necessary."

"I see."

"You don't say much, Fenris." She turned to him, eyes soft and warm.

"I…I am unused to having companions to speak to."

"My sister died," she said. "We were running from the darkspawn, but they caught up to us. She distracted an ogre long enough for us to kill it, but it killed her to do so."

"I am sorry."

"I wanted to set Fenyriel free. I really did," she said, looking away from him.

"Then why didn't you?"

"The demons. He's already having dreams about demons—they're whispering to him. How long before he succumbs to their influence? I don't think he will be safe much longer. The Circle is his best chance, they will protect him as best they can, and if they can't…they will protect the rest of the world from him."

"You did the right thing," said Fenris. "Do not doubt it, Hawke. I have seen the worst of what mages can do."

"It's easier for you," she said. "You hate them so much, you don't see them as people like you and I."

"I see that they are just as susceptible and weak as any person, but with power beyond what any mortal should be given."

"Forget it. I'm not going to argue this with Anders and I'm not going to argue it with you."


	4. An act of mercy

"So, what's the job today?" asked Varric.

The five of them, Varric, Hawke, Anders, Merrill, and Fenris, sat around the round table in the dwarf's quarters, as was their morning custom. The tavern served horrid black coffee in the mornings when only the most dedicated drunks and Hawke's strange little band were there.

"A templar sent me a letter," said Hawke, waving the envelope in the air. "It's all mysterious, says if I want to help out some mages, to meet him on the Wounded Coast this morning."

"Sounds like a trap," said Anders. "You can't trust templars."

"It might be," said Hawke. "But we can handle ourselves."

"Killing templars is not the best way to hide our apostates," said Fenris, glaring at Merrill and Anders.

"Say it a little louder," replied Anders. "I don't think everyone in Kirkwall quite heard you."

"This guy seems nice," said Hawke. "I don't think it's a trap, but be careful, just in case."

"Aren't we always?" said Varric.

"Can you tell us a story on the way, Varric?" said Merrill. She was like a child in some ways, enchanted by Varric's tales and the slightest wonders of the city. The first time she set foot in the Gallows, she had to run up and touch the statues, just to see what they felt like. And when she saw the jewelry and trinkets store in Lowtown for the first time, she was so enamored of the shiny things Hawke went ahead and bought her a gaudy costume ring. She wore the horrid object with its bright fake purple gemstone all the time.

"Sure thing," said Varric.

Varric spun another one of his tall tales as they walked to the coast. Fenris listened intently—this one was about Hawke.

"So there they were, surrounded by a sea of darkspawn, and an ogre runs up the hill towards them! I don't know if you've ever seen an ogre, Daisy, but they're about three times as tall as you are, with arms as wide around as my waist."

Merrill's eyes were even larger than usual.

"Hawke's sister is this beautiful mage, long chestnut locks and these gorgeous blue eyes that made grown men swoon. But for all her beauty, she was fierce and strong, and she launched herself at the ogre to save her family. She bought enough time for Hawke here to attack. So Hawke runs around behind the ogre and begins to climb it, using her daggers as handholds. The beast is shaking and roaring but she manages to get to the top and stab it, right through the eye. The thing fell to the ground with a thud that shook the earth beneath their feet."

"But what about Hawke's sister?" said Merrill. "Was she okay?"

"I'm afraid not," said Varric, his tone dipping. "She sacrificed herself to save her family, the noble woman. But they had no time to mourn her, the darkspawn were closing in. There was no end to them."

"But they did get away, right? I mean, Hawke is here now."

"Just as things looked bleakest for the Hawke family, a dragon flew over the nearby cliff. Now, if you think the ogre was big, well, this dragon could have eaten it for breakfast and still been hungry. And it swooped out of the sky and burned all the darkspawn with its fiery breath. And then the dragon turned into a white haired old woman."

"Asha'bellanar!" said Merrill.

"Yup, she was the Witch of the Wilds herself, straight out of the legends. She saved the family from the Blight, and the Hawke we know and love made straight for Kirkwall. And here she is!"

"Oh, Hawke," said Merrill. "I'm so sorry about your sister. How horrible."

"Thanks, Merrill," said Hawke.

"But you were so brave, fighting all those darkspawn, protecting your family from an ogre! I could never do something like that!"

"Right," said Hawke. "Look, there's the templar."

Ser Thrask, as he was called, greeted Hawke warmly, and Fenris got the feeling they'd met before, that Thrask owed Hawke for some favor. Not surprising. Who in Kirkwall didn't owe Sarah Hawke a favor?

"There's a group of apostates hiding in these caves," said Thrask.

"We're not going to kill apostates for you!" said Anders. Fenris rolled his eyes.

"I was hoping you could convince them to surrender peacefully. When the other templars show up, they are going to attack first and ask questions later. If the apostates don't surrender, it will be a bloodbath."

"I will talk to them," said Hawke.

"You are a good woman," said Thrask.

They made their way into the darkness of the cave. Fenris could hear an underground stream rushing nearby. There were old firepits and worn bedrolls in several chambers—this cave had been used many times, by smugglers, slavers, perhaps even other escaping apostates.

When they reached the mages, a tall, bearded man was in the middle of some ritual Fenris didn't recognize, but he could feel the blood magic involved.

The bearded man looked up at the intruders.

"Templars!" he said. "Attack them!"

"We're not templars," said Hawke, but the mages paid her no mind, grabbing staves and flinging spells. Fenris's skin tingled with the magic crackling through the air as he hefted his sword and rushed towards the largest group of them.

When half the mages lay dead, the other half surrendered. A short woman with messy hair and wide features ran towards the fallen leader.

"You killed him!" she yelled at Hawke. "He was our future. There was no way out until he came."

"That's what happens to people stupid enough to attack Hawke," said Varric.

"He should have tried talking first," said Hawke. "Do I look like a templar?"

"I suppose not," said one of the other mages. "But if you're not a templar, what are you here for?"

"I want to help," said Hawke.

"Why?" asked one of the mages.

"Does it matter?" Hawke replied. "I'm all the help you're likely to get. Don't turn me down."

"If you want to help us," said the first woman, "kill that templar outside so we can get out of this hellhole."

Hawke frowned, but did not say no.

"Oh, so we're killing templars now?" said Fenris. "Great idea."

"Better the life of one templar than all these innocent mages," said Anders.

"Oh, I don't want to have to kill anyone," said Merrill. The blood caked on her arm where she had sliced it during the battle seemed to speak differently, thought Fenris. He wondered, not for the first time, what he was doing at the side of two apostates, one of them a blood mage. It was only a matter of time until one or both of them turned on Hawke…and he would be there to protect her when it happened.

"We'll talk to the templar," said Hawke. "Convince him you're gone."

"You're a terrible liar," Fenris murmured to her as they returned to the entrance of the cave. It was true. Hawke's face was sweet and expressive, every emotion obvious in her large dark eyes.

"I have a secret weapon," she replied, smiling.

When they got to the entrance of the cave, another templar was there, talking to Thrask.

"Did you find the apostates?" the templar asked them.

"Of course," said Hawke. "Tell him who we are," she said, turning to Varric.

"Don't you recognize Knight-Commander Amell, of the Ferelden Circle?" said Varric.

"What is the Knight-Commander from Ferelden doing here in the Marches?" asked the templar. He looked doubtful.

"If Knight-Commander Meredith does not wish to discuss her plans with her subordinates, it is certainly not my place to do so," said Hawke, with a haughty smirk he had never seen before.

"I…I see," said the templar, backing down, obviously intimidated at the mention of this Meredith woman.

"Are we going to stand here all day talking?" said Varric. "Because the leader of the mages escaped us. He killed all the other mages and now he's heading through the tunnels to the coast. If you head that way you might be able to cut him off."

"Of…of course! Right away!" said the templar, and with that they hurried off.

The mages filed out of the cave, blinking in the bright sunlight. "Thank you," their leader said to Hawke.

"Good luck," she replied, and they parted ways.

Hawke lead them back to Kirkwall.

"I can't believe you let those mages go," he said to Hawke as they walked through dusty evening streets.

"They deserved a chance at freedom," said Hawke.

"They were blood mages!"

"No, they knew some blood mages. That's not the same."

"They could have been blood mages too, for all we know."

"And they could have been perfectly normal mages for all we know. It isn't fair to condemn all of them because of the foolishness of a few."

"I have never seen a mage turn down the chance at more power," said Fenris.

"That's not fair," said Hawke. "They did not choose to be mages any more than you chose to be a slave."

_And I cannot break free of slavery any more than they can break free of their magic,_ he thought, but did not say.

* * *

When Fenris returned to the Hanged Man late in the evening to play a few games of Wicked Grace with Varric, he found Hawke there as well. She was leaning against the bar, throwing back shots and talking to a dark skinned, exotic woman with sparkling gold around her neck and a short white dress that rose suggestively on the sides to expose her hips.

The woman was eyeing Hawke like she might eye a chocolate covered puff pastry she wanted to pop in her mouth.

"Fenris, this is Isabela," said Hawke, a frown creasing her features for a short moment when she noticed him staring at the woman.

"Another one of yours, Hawke? You've got a regular entourage."

"I get around, but not as much as you," said Hawke.

The woman laughed. "So you'll help me then? With the duel?"

"I think I can manage to watch your back," said Hawke.

"I bet," Isabela replied, a lusty smirk on her face. "I'll meet you in Hightown near the Chantry tomorrow night." She walked off, a definite swagger in her curvy hips.

Hawke was scowling at him when he turned back to her.

"Enjoying the view?" she said.

"She's…unique," replied Fenris.

"Yeah, whatever," said Hawke. "I need another drink. You want one?"

"I don't usually drink here."

"Smart man." But Hawke ordered two drinks anyway, so Fenris had no choice but to sit on the barstool next to her and try to choke down some of the watery ale they served.

"What are the right reasons?" said Hawke, after a long silence.

"The right reasons?" said Fenris.

"You said you would stay here, for the right reasons. What are they?"

"I..am not sure," he said. "I have been on the run for three years. I am not sure what to do now that I've stopped."

"You could build a life here," she said. "There's always work for a strong sword arm, and if you're with me, you'll never go hungry or have to fight alone."

"Those are compelling reasons," he said.

She gave him a smile, then, a wide warm one that made his chest feel strange, as though he could not breathe in enough air.

Fenris watched her drain her glass and gesture for another one. Hawke drank more than he thought healthy, but rarely enough to really get drunk. He guessed that perhaps it was her way of avoiding her family and home, staying late at the tavern every night.

Her hair was messy and disheveled, falling into her eyes when she bent her head forward. Her cheeks were flushed, lips full and deep red. She looked at him, eyes dark, and again he felt the strange fluttering in his chest, a lightheadedness that couldn't be from a single glass of ale.

How strange this woman was, and how compelling.

* * *

Author's note: I know that since Hawke is a rogue, Bethany should be alive, not Carver…but I wasn't thinking when I wrote the first chapter, so in this story I guess Carver lives. Lucky fellow.

Thanks for all the alerts, reviews, faves, you guys make my day!


	5. The Arishok

Fenris could not tell if Isabela was pleased or bothered by the outcome of her 'duel', which really had been more of a brawl than the carefully choregraphed duels to the death he'd seen. Of course, duels in Tevinter were always between two magisters, and had an elaborate set of rules and ceremonial trappings.

They'd all returned to the Hanged Man afterwards, where Isabela, Hawke, and Merrill had set themselves up at the bar, and Fenris, Anders, and Varric sat nearby, playing a few hands of cards.

For the last few hours, Hawke and Merrill had been attempting to keep pace with Isabela's drinking and failing miserably. The pirate wench could hold her liquor like few others he'd ever seen.

"And that's game," said Varric, slapping down a high card on the table. He slid the pile of copper and silver coins towards himself.

Anders's complaint was cut short by the sound of terrible singing coming from the bar. Merrill and Hawke had their arms wrapped around each other's waists, singing some Dalish tune. Isabela was watching them with a lusty smirk.

"You go, girls," she said, knocking back another shot of whiskey. "Now, how about a dance?"

Hawke was standing up to comply when suddenly Varric appeared next to her, just in time to steady her before she fell over.

"You two are stinking drunk," he said.

"I've never been drunk before," said Merrill. "It's a very strange feeling. Like the whole room is spinning around me."

"How much did you have?" asked Varric.

"I don't remember. Two glasses? Three?"

"Buncha lightweights," said Isabela.

"Come on, Daisy," said Varric, lifting Merrill's arm over his shoulder. "I'm taking you home."

"Whee," said Merrill, stumbling forward. "The floor keeps moving. Is it supposed to do that, Varric?"

"One of you take Hawke home," Varric called over his shoulder. Both Anders and Fenris stood.

"I'll take her," said Anders.

"Like hell you will," said Fenris, surprised at his own snarling words.

"Who's going to take me home?" said Isabela, eyes pouty.

"You live here," said Fenris, confused. Isabela was not drunk, and her room was just up the stairs.

"That's not what I meant," said Isabela, dropping her tone an octave. Fenris looked at her, confused.

"She means sex, idiot," said Anders.

Oh. Oh, well, that made sense, sort of.

"I see," said Fenris. He moved to the bar and put Hawke's arm around his shoulder.

"Goodbye, Hawke," said Isabela, with a kiss that lingered a bit too long on Hawke's cheek.

Anders, admitting defeat, took the barstool Hawke had just left. "So, Isabela," he said, turning intently to the lovely woman. "What do you think about the place of mages in our society?"

The Kirkwall air was warm and muggy, and Hawke's body was pressed up against his side, softer than he thought she'd be.

"Thanks, Fenris," she murmured. "I am sooo drunk." Her breath tickled his ear and it seemed as though the touch of her ran straight through his body, hot and liquid.

"You are," he said. They made their way slowly through the empty streets, Hawke struggling to stay upright. She stopped at the stairs to Gamlen's house.

"Home sweet home," she said, her tone bitter. "I'm just going to sit out here for a minute until I sober up. Mother will have a fit if I stumble in there completely drunk."

Fenris looked around. The street seemed empty for the moment, but Hawke was in no shape to fight should any gangs come along. He sat down on the steps next to Hawke. She looked at him, her eyes bright, cheeks flushed from drinking.

"How drunk are you?" he said.

She laughed. "Drunk enough to tell you how sexy it is when you're swinging your sword through a group of bandits," she said.

"Is that what women find sexy, then? Swordplay?" His voice was level, curious.

"Maybe it's just me," she said. She looked at him, intently, as though she was expecting him to say something.

After a long silence she spoke again.

"You are like no one else I've ever met, Fenris." Her voice was considerably firmer, but he could still detect a slight slur to her words.

"I could say the same to you."

She laughed. "I'm just a Kirkwall street rat, trying to make my name. There are dozens of us on the streets of this city. You just don't get out enough."

"Perhaps there are a hundred slaves in Tevinter, just like me."

She turned to him. "No," she said, her face so close to his it took his breath away. "No, you are different. You bring this…intensity to everything you do. You are so strong…"

"Hawke," he said, not wanting to move, to break the spell she was weaving.

Hawke's older brother chose that moment to step out the door and nearly fall over the two sitting on the steps.

"There you are," he said to Hawke. "Mother just sent me out to look for you. Do you have any idea how late it is?"

Hawke frowned and looked at the ground. "I'm coming," she said. "Thank you for taking me home, Fenris," she said, and her eyes lingered for a long time on his face. He watched her disappear into the lighted house, and then walked home, thinking over what she had said.

Hawke was late the next morning, as was Merrill.

"I bet they're both nursing hangovers," said Varric.

But when Hawke did show up, with Merrill on her arm, she was surprisingly cheery.

"I've got a job for us," she said. "A real job, the kind that pays actual money! No more charity work for us."

"What's the gig?" said Varric.

"Well, Merrill came over to my place early this morning," said Hawke. "She said she knew of a great Dalish hangover remedy, so we went up to the coast to look for some elfroot for it. It worked great, by the way! But anyway, on the way there we came by this dwarf being attacked by spiders. He offered us a job, clearing out those Qunari rebels in the caves near the Wounded Coast."

"It had better pay well, if we're going to have to fight a bunch of Qunari," said Varric.

"It will be a piece of cake," said Hawke.

"What did you give her?" Anders said to Merrill.

"Oh, not much. Just some elfroot, enchanted with a bit of my magic."

They walked to the coast, and up a slope into the cavern where the Tal Vashoth were hiding. The Qunari were not talkative in the slightest. Hawke's calls of "hello?" were met with half a dozen large horned beings jumping from the shadows and attacking. They all seemed to focus on Hawke, and Fenris found himself running across the room to try and attract the attention of all of them.

They wandered a little farther and found themselves in a large and somewhat stinky cavern, where another ten or twelve of the Qunari were waiting. There was no talk, no question of diplomacy, the Qunari simply took up their weapons and attacked.

They were all strong, and Fenris found himself very grateful for Anders's latest spell, a glowing barrier around him that protected him from some of the enemies' blows. Hawke moved like a whirlwind, darting this way and that to avoid being hit by any of the Qunari. In her thin leather armor, a single hit from one of the giants would have crippled her.

Still, they managed to slay every last Tal Vashoth, and were looting the bodies when Fenris heard a loud snapping sound, followed by a streak of some of the worst language he'd ever heard. He turned around to see Hawke caught in a large claw trap, her face pale and streaked with sweat, swearing like a sailor.

Anders wasted no time in running to her and gripping her arms, casting a healing spell on her leg.

"I need you to pry this open," he said to Fenris, who grabbed a pitted Qunari sword off a corpse and used it to pry the jagged and rusty teeth of the trap apart.

"The bone's broken," said Anders. "I'll need to reset it first before I can heal it." He frowned at Hawke. "This will hurt."

She nodded. "Just do it," she said.

Hearing her shriek of pain as Anders snapped her legbone back into place nearly made Fenris throw up. He thought perhaps it hurt more to hear her in pain than if it had been his own leg in the trap. But when he turned back to her, she was smiling, though still pale, and Anders had nearly finished with the leg.

"Try to put your weight on it," he said. She brushed him aside.

"I'm fine," she said, "thanks to you." She stood, wobbling briefly before finding her balance. "Some rogue I am, stepping in a trap," she said. "I am so clumsy!"

They made their way back to Kirkwall, pausing several times for Anders to check on the status of her leg. They went straight to the Docks after Hawke insisted again she was fine, and just wanted to get paid.

"There you are," said the dwarf. "It's about time, I've been waiting for hours."

He turned to the Qunari guards. "Bring out the Arishok," he said. "I'm ready to deal."

Fenris was surprised to see the Arishok actually emerge, Qunari rarely took the demands of others seriously. He greeted the giant with a traditional greeting from the Qun, to which the Qunari responded,

"The Qun, from an elf? The madness of this…place."

Fenris wanted to remind him that there were elves plenty in Par Vollen and that he himself was from Seheron, but he held his tongue.

"I did your errand," said the dwarf, "killed all your rebels. So now I'm ready to deal for the goods."

"No," said the Arishok.

Hawke looked to Fenris for answers. He spoke again to the Arishok, ignoring the warmth in his chest her glance caused.

"The Qunari do not abandon their debts," he said. "I humbly seek clarification from the Arishok."

"This fool dwarf wanted something we were not willing to give, so he invented a task and paid to have it done. We made no deal."

"I see," said Fenris. "We have been misled. Should I kill the dwarf for you?"

"No," said the Arishok, although Fenris could swear the giant looked tempted to take up the offer. "He is not worthy."

They walked away from the Docks, dejected and without any pay at all from the dwarf.

"I still want to kill that dwarf," said Hawke, frowning.

"He is not worthy," said Varric, a dead on impression of the Arishok that made Hawke double over laughing.

"Don't worry too much about it," said Varric. "We got enough loot off those Qunari that we are actually pretty close to being able to fund the expedition."

Hawke grinned. "What would I do without you?"


	6. Saarebas

The collar was heavy around his neck, pressing painfully down on his shoulders. Danarius jerked on the leash and laughed when Fenris stumbled over his feet trying to follow. As they walked across the spacious estate towards the laboratory, the slave could not keep his hands from trembling. The laboratory meant pain, every time.

Danarius bid him kneel in the summoning circle. Fenris could feel the magic swirl around him, brushing his skin with cold whispers. He was at the eye of the storm, calm, frozen, until Danarius begin to draw power from his skin. The lyrium singed his skin, burning trails of white fire down his arms and legs, across his chest and hands. He could not stop himself from screaming, could not stop the tears streaming down his cheeks.

And then the spell was gone, and he was alone, enveloped in velvet darkness. Another dream.

He stared into the darkness, his eyes gradually adjusting until he could make out the contours of the room, the grand bed still empty, his clothes hanging over the canopy to dry. He got up, stretching, trying to regain control of his shaky muscles. He wandered down to the street and through darkened alleys.

The sun had not risen, but there was a barely perceptible grayness in the east, suggesting the possibility of sunlight, when Fenris came upon a Chantry sister, standing by herself in a darkened alley in Lowtown. He slipped into the shadowy entrance to a warehouse and watched as she tried to make a deal with some thugs.

Gold slipped into the leader's fingers.

"Thanks, lady," he said, and drew his sword. "Let's see how much more you got." The other thugs drew their blades as well. The Chantry sister looked surprised, helpless, and Fenris jumped out of the shadows before thinking, swinging his blade in a great bloody arc. The thugs were amateurs, and soon dead at his feet.

"You should be more careful," he said to the sister.

"I am in need of...a certain type of help. Perhaps if you wish to make some coin…if you can be discrete and bring a few more swords…I may have a job for you."

"In this city, who isn't in need of coin?" said Fenris. "If you can make it worth our while, I will bring some friends to help you."

Fenris made his way down to Hawke's house as the sun began to show a single sliver above the horizon. Hawke came to the door at his knock, looking sleepy, her hair messy around her face.

"Morning, Fenris," she said, giving him an endearing smile. "What's up?"

"I've got a job for us," he said.

"Great," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Give me five minutes to put on my armor." She stepped out of the doorway and looked at him expectantly.

"Come on in," she said. He followed her into the main room of the house, glancing at the dirt floor, the rundown furniture, the stains on the walls, noticing the peculiar smell that Hawke's mother had not been able to get rid of—no matter how much she scrubbed.

"I'll just be a minute," said Hawke. "Wait here."

"Keep it down!" came a voice from one of the other rooms. "It's the bloody break of dawn and some of us are trying to get some sleep!"

"Some of us _work_," Hawke shouted back, from the other room.

She returned in a few minutes, fully armed and ready to go.

"Let's go by the alienage and pick up Merrill," she said. "She's always awake by dawn anyway. Some Dalish thing, I think. Or maybe it's just her. Who knows?"

He followed her out of the house and down the dusty street, watching the sun rise as they walked.

"Wow," said Hawke. "It's beautiful. I'm never really awake at this hour. I can't remember the last time I saw a sunrise."

"It is lovely," said Fenris.

"So tell me about this job."

"I'm not sure what it involves, only that a Chantry sister is hiring mercenaries for some secret task. She said she'd pay well."

"We can definitely use the money. We're so close to being able to afford this Deep Roads expedition…"

"The Deep Roads are dangerous," said Fenris.

"So are the streets of Kirkwall, especially at night. What were you doing wandering around in the middle of the night?"

"I was awake," he said.

"Are you okay," she said, peering at him, eyes wide. "You look so tired."

"I don't sleep well," he said. "Nightmares."

"About your time as a slave?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I'm sorry. That must be difficult for you."

"It's nothing, really."

"It's not nothing," she said, stopping and turning to him. "If it's bothering you, I want to help. Or at least listen."

"To my whining?" He chuckled. "You're too kind."

"You've had horrible experiences that sometimes keep you awake at night. I think you're entitled to some complaining. And I'll always listen to you."

She turned and continued walking.

"I…thank you," he said.

"What are friends for?" she replied. "Here, I think this house is Merrill's."

The Dalish elf answered their knock almost immediately. "Good morning!" she said, smiling cheerfully.

"We've got a job, Merrill," said Hawke.

"Oh, wonderful," she said. "I'm all set. Let's go."

Fenris wasn't sure what he'd expected from the Chantry sister, but it certainly wasn't a Qunari mage, collar and all, being led around a tiny safehouse. He shuddered, looking at that collar, remembering the weight of it on his neck. Hawke did not notice, she was studying the mage.

"This is Ketojan. I want you to take him to freedom," said the Chantry sister. There was something strange about her tone.

"Hello, Ketojan," said Hawke, but the Qunari just growled at her.

She turned back to the Chantry sister. "Where did you find him?"

"He survived a fight between others of his kind. Who can tell why these barbaric creatures fight as they do? But surely he deserves freedom, doesn't he?"

"He won't be very free as long as he's wearing that," said Hawke.

"Still, it will be more than he has had before," said the sister. "And I will pay well."

Hawke frowned. She smelled trouble, as did Fenris, but they needed the coin.

"Okay," she said. "But I can't take him through the streets. He's a little obvious."

"There's a trapdoor in the back room that leads down to the sewers," said the sister.

They had just set foot down in the sewers and closed the trapdoor when they were set upon by a group of giant spiders. Fenris ran forward, greatsword scything through their thin legs, leaving them helpless and squirming as Merrill finished them off with a spell Fenris did not care to examine too closely. It left the stink of blood magic in his mouth.

They continued through the grimy tunnels until they came upon a group of thugs, leaning against the wall and prominently displaying their weapons. Ketojan growled at them, but that did not deter them from attacking the intruders.

And suddenly a magic Fenris had not seen before blossomed in the middle of the group of thugs, smoky and hot, blinding. The thugs screamed and scattered.

Ketojan was channeling a cast, huge arms raised above his horned head.

"Ketojan, calm yourself," said Hawke. "The threat is passed."

The Qunari, surprisingly, lowered his arms and the magic receded at once.

"Why did you attack?" she said to him.

Fenris frowned. He knew the blind obedience he saw in the Qunari's face, knew what it was to think only of the next second, the next breath, to follow and obey without question.

"I doubt he knows himself," he said to Hawke. She nodded.

"Let's move," she said.

The tunnels were empty the rest of the way, and they came out on a sandy beach near the city walls. A large contingent of Qunari awaited them.

"You leave a clear trail, human," said the leader.

"I just came from the tunnels," said Hawke. "Whatever trail you followed, I did not leave."

"You have one of our Saarebas with you," said the Qunari. "He must be returned."

"What if he does not wish to return?" said Hawke.

"Saarebas must be contained. They are chaos and evil. They cannot be allowed to roam free."

"Surely mages aren't that scary," said Hawke. "Look at little Merrill here. Is she so frightening you would collar her too?"

"There's no need for such fear," said Merrill.

"You are Saarebas?" said the Qunari. He turned and said something to his brethren, who all drew their weapons.

"Wait," said Hawke. "What's…?" she was cut off as the leader's blade arced down towards her. She jumped backwards and drew her blades, and Fenris stepped forward to protect her.

The Qunari were strong, and there were a number of them, but they fought close together, and it was their downfall. Fenris's blade could easily slash through two or three of them at once, and Merrill cast fireballs and some sort of evil blood magic on their group that had them quickly falling to the ground, corpses set ablaze.

"I guess you're pretty terrifying," she said to Merrill once the last Qunari lay dead. Then she turned to Ketojan.

"You are worthy of leading," said the Qunari.

"Oh, now he talks," said Merrill.

"Where will you go now?" said Hawke.

"To the Qun." The Qunari walked to the edge of a nearby cliff, looking out over the water. "I am Saarebas. I was away from the others. I could have been taken. There is only one answer."

"Which is?" said Hawke.

"His death," said Fenris.

"Is there no other way?" said Hawke.

"There is only the Qun."

The Qunari handed something to Hawke, and murmured a few words to her that Fenris could not hear. Then the great mage turned to the sky, and with a wave of his hand, was consumed in a brightly flickering orange fire.

Hawke watched the flames for a long time, not speaking. When she turned back to them, her eyes were dark, angry.

"Someone led the Qunari here," she said. "That Chantry sister better have some answers."

The sun was high and hot in the sky as they walked back to the sister's safehouse. Hawke opened the door and stepped inside, scowling. She'd not said a word the entire trip back, and neither Merrill nor Fenris wanted to break the silence.

"You're back?" said the sister, surprise in her voice.

"Your scheme failed," said Hawke. "You led the Qunari to us, didn't you?"

"You had a chance to serve the faith," said the sister. "You failed."

"You're crazy. Just give me my money so I can be rid of you."

The sister handed them a heavy pouch of coins. "Next time, I will not be so foolish as to seek help outside the faithful."

"Whatever," said Hawke, and they walked back out into the sunlight.

Fenris walked next to Hawke, wondering what he could say to make things right, but when he looked on her face, she was grinning, hefting the pouch of coins in her hand.

"Let's go find Varric," she said. "This," she held up the coins, "this is enough to take us to the Deep Roads. I hope you two are ready for an adventure."


	7. The Deep Roads

It was late night, whatever that meant in the unwavering dimness of the Deep Roads. It was never fully dark down there, but a constant twilight, the glow from strange fungi and small streams of lava casting an eerie red sheen over everything.

Fenris sat on a bridge over one of the lava flows, a ways away from the camp. The light flickered red on his white hair and shadowed his face.

He had been there for some time, drinking alone, when Hawke stepped out of the shadows without a sound and sat next to him. She said nothing, looking out into the dimness ahead of them.

He handed her the bottle of wine he'd already half drained. She lifted it to her lips.

"The Aggregio?" she said.

"It's a special occasion," he replied. "The anniversary of my escape. Would you care to hear the story?"

She turned to him, and he could see the dim light reflected in her eyes. "I would love to hear it…if you are willing to tell it."

"Only today," he said. _Only for you_, he thought.

She smiled at him, so warmly. _Let us see if you will smile like that once you know what I am,_ he thought, and began the story.

"I was in Seheron with Danarius when the Qunari attacked," he said. "I was able to get him to a ship, but there was no room for a slave, so I was left behind."

He chuckled. "Danarius was not happy about it," he continued. "You should have seen the look on his face when the ship pulled away. But I had bigger things to worry about. I fought my way out of the city, but I was badly wounded. I managed to stagger into the jungle and collapse."

Hawke was listening intently. It was a gift she had, when she turned those dark, intense eyes on him, he felt as though he were the only person in the world, as though anything he had to say meant the world to her.

He turned away. "I was rescued by a group of Qunari rebels called Fog Warriors. They were…extraordinary." He paused to finish the bottle of wine. "You'll remember the Tevinter and Qunari are at war, yet when the Fog Warriors found me, they took me in without question, even though I was so obviously an object of the Tevinter."

"Not an object," murmured Hawke, her voice soft. "A person."

"The Fog Warriors were the first to see me that way," he said. "They treated me as though my will was my own, and I admired them greatly. They were strong, bold, free with their affections. I was very happy there…for a while."

He threw the empty bottle of wine into the darkness and heard it shatter. "Danarius found me, as he always does. The Fog Warriors did not allow him to take me, despite his claims that I was rightfully his property."

He turned away from Hawke. At this moment, he did not want to see her face. "He ordered me to kill them, so I did. I killed them all."

"Why?" said Hawke, surprise evident in her voice.

"My master ordered me to," said Fenris. "I had been living a fantasy life for the past few months, but my master had returned and it felt inevitable I would return to my old life. But when I saw them all dead, all by my hand…something in me changed. I ran."

"You were able to escape then?"

"Danarius had been wounded in the battle with the Fog Warriors. I was able to get away from him then, and I ran south, stowed aboard ships, traveled from city to city. He always caught up to me. He always will."

"When he does," said Hawke. "You will not have to face him alone."

Fenris turned to her. "You are like them. The Fog Warriors. Kind but fierce. You always protect your own."

He stared out into the darkness. "And that is my story. My…regrets. Tell me, Hawke, what do you think now that you've heard it all?"

She took his hands, her touch surprisingly warm. "I think life has not been kind to you," she said, "and it breaks my heart to hear that you have suffered, that you still suffer. But as long as you want me by your side, you will not have to fight alone."

He stared at her for a long time. Her fingers were calloused from long hours fighting, but her hands were otherwise soft. Her touch stirred something in him, a tightness in his chest and a spreading warmth in his stomach.

"I do not know what to do now that I've stopped running."

"You build a life," she said.

"I do not know how," he said.

"You have already begun."

"You are an extraordinary woman, Hawke," he said.

She pulled her hands away. "We should get back to camp. We're adventurers now, and we need our rest. I think we'll make it to the thaig tomorrow."

In the morning they all pulled up camp and moved on through the deep cavernous road, but did not make it far before they came up to a cave in that blocked their way.

Bartrand grumbled and sent his scouts to investigate the side passages, while he and the dwarven merchant investigated whether it would be possible to dig their way through the blocked passage.

Before long, the scouts returned, shaking their heads. "Darkspawn," they said.

"We'll take care of it," said Hawke. "That's what you hired us for, isn't it?"

"It might be dangerous," said Bartrand.

"Well, if we come back screaming, you'll know it wasn't the best way to go," said Varric.

"We can handle it," said Hawke. She gestured to her companions, and they all followed her, Varric, Merrill, Anders, and of course Fenris.

Fenris could not help but gape at the crumbling grandeur of the deep passages they traveled through, even as he was slicing through small roaming bands of darkspawn. Each room, each hallway was carved out of stone, square runes marking different passages.

They came to what seemed like a garden, but an underground one, with different types of fungus and strange glowing streaks along the walls. In front of it stood a small figure, and as they came closer, Fenris recognized the placid face of the merchant's son, Sandal. Behind the boy were the bodies of around a dozen darkspawn and a single ogre was frozen in midair, icy white.

"Impressive," Fenris said to the boy.

"Enchantment?" he replied.

"Enchantment indeed," said Varric, smiling. "Nice job with all the darkspawn."

"Boom?" said the boy, and held out a strange rune to Hawke.

Fenris examined the corpses. They had been killed by some sort of magic—he could see the burns from a powerful spell on several of the bodies, and he could still feel the strange magic in the air, making his markings crawl.

"Varric, Merrill, take Sandal back to the camp," said Hawke. "We'll continue, see if there's a way into the thaig from this side."

"Come on, Sandal," said Merrill, holding out her hand. The boy smiled and took it, and they wandered into the darkness. The other three continued forward, through passages carved and shaped with care.

Finally they came to a grand hall with a great dais in the middle, where some lord of long ago must have sat and held court.

"Right through there," said Hawke, pointing at the door, "that's where we want to go."

As she spoke, a loud screech echoed through the chamber.

"That's not good," said Anders.

A fully grown dragon burst forth from the shadows, roaring at them, smoke escaping from its agitated mouth. It was a dull brown color, with black eyes that glinted in the light from their torches. Fenris drew his sword and yelled, as loud as he could, to keep the dragon from noticing that Hawke was already beginning to sneak behind it.

Hawke darted between and around the creature's feet, all the while burying her dagger as often as she could in its tender belly. Anders flung spells at it, and Fenris attacked from the front, slashing at the creature's chest and wings.

He dove out of the way just in time to avoid a burst of flames from the dragon's mouth, and Hawke managed to slice a bloody chunk out of its side. It screeched and flung its back leg at her, throwing her against the wall, where she collapsed with a thud. Fenris yelled and charged, burying his greatsword in the creature's chest just as Anders conjured up a huge chunk of stone that hit it square in the head. The beast crumpled and the two men ran to Hawke, who lay on the ground, a pool of blood around her head.

Fenris knelt and lifted her by her shoulders, resting her head against his lap.

"Do something, Anders!" he said.

"I am," replied Anders. "Quit interrupting me!"

He watched as Anders ran his hands over Hawke's head, testing for damage.

"She just took a knock to the head," said Anders. "Nothing serious. Head wounds bleed a lot but they heal easily." And with a quick blue glow, he had stopped the bleeding.

"Now we just wait for her to come around," said Anders.

"Are you sure?" said Fenris. "She took a pretty bad hit."

"No," said Anders. "I didn't check for other things because I'm a terrible healer. I mean, it's not like this is what I do every day or anything."

"I didn't mean…I just want to be sure she's okay."

"She's fine. Trust me."

"I don't appear to have a choice."

Anders sighed. The two men sat in silence for a long time, and then Anders spoke again.

"Are you…are you two together?" he said.

"Why do you ask?" said Fenris.

"You spend a lot of time together. She's always smiling at you and doing that thing with her eyes. I just thought maybe…"

"No," said Fenris. "We are not…together."

"Oh," said Anders. "Okay. Good. Good to know."


	8. Monsters

Okay, so, several chapters in one, because the site is not letting me update! So here's the next two, hope you enjoy! Thanks to everyone who faves, reviews, etc. That always makes my day!

* * *

They made camp near the body of the dead dragon, and in the morning continued a short way down the road to the thaig.

The primeval thaig was truly magnificent, rising from the ground with great square pillars marking the entrance. Everywhere there were shoots of a strange red glowing plant, climbing up the pillars and creeping across the walls. It was even darker in the thaig than the rest of the deep roads, with only the light from the red vines and the flicker of torches to see by.

"This place must be ancient," said Varric.

"I hope they kept their valuables close by," replied Bartram.

They wandered deeper into the thaig, which was infested by shades they easily cut through. There were a number of golems, but most of them remained stationary, no more dangerous than great stone statues. Fenris wondered if any of them were still conscious, and the thought of sitting for eons, staring into unwavering darkness, gave him shivers.

As they entered one of the grand rooms, he began to feel the presence of some ancient and strange magic, whispering featherlight touches across his markings. Hawke picked up a strange statue, the source of the magic—he was certain of it.

"This looks like pure lyrium," said Varric. "It's gotta be worth a fortune."

"Good find," said Bartrand, taking the idol. "I'll take it back to camp. You guys look around some more, see if there's anything else."

Fenris was examining the markings on the dais where the idol had sat. They seemed sinister, dark etching on the stone surface.

"The door!" cried Hawke. Fenris turned just in time to see the door to the entrance slam shut behind Bartrand. Varric wasted no time in running to the door and pounding on it.

"Bartrand," he said. "The door shut after you!"

"You certainly are perceptive," said Bartrand. Fenris could hear his footsteps moving away from them. Varric cursed and hit the door again, but it did not budge. Fenris knew from a glance it was hopeless, dwarven carved stone doors could not simply be kicked down.

"I'm sure there's another way out," said Hawke. "Let's go."

They wandered through grandiose hallways and spacious rooms, though what any of them were used for Fenris could not have said. There was no furniture, no indication as to whether people lived here, came here to govern or worship, or what. There were shades and demons and darkspawn wandering the halls.

And then they happened upon a large pile of rocks. Fenris stepped forward and the rocks began to lift themselves up and piece together until they were vaguely humanoid. The rock creatures attacked, and he swung his sword through stone and magical bindings, hoping he was causing some damage to the creature. Eventually it fell, and another after it, until they had slain all the rock creatures.

"What was that?" he asked, and the others shook their heads. He thought nothing more of it until they came upon one of the creatures that could talk.

"I would not see these creatures harmed," said the rock-thing.

"They attacked us," said Hawke.

"They will not attack you further, not if I forbid it," said the creature. Fenris could feel a familiar presence.

"It is a demon," said Merrill. "If we are careful, we can use it."

"I can make you a deal," said the demon, very predictably. "You need something and I need something. I know the way out of this place."

Hawke looked over at him. He shook his head, softly.

"No deal," she said.

The demon sighed, wearily, and attacked. The body of the rock creature it had possessed, however, was not terribly strong, and they defeated it easily.

They continued on, turning through strange hallways until Fenris could not have said which way would lead them back to the surface. They came upon a large room with four grand pillars around the center, each covered in glowing runes. Fenris took a moment to examine the runes, but Merrill's gasp made him turn around quickly.

It was another one of the rock creatures, but this one was about ten times larger, moving with heavy strides that shook the entire floor. Fenris raised his sword, clearing his mind and drawing power from his markings the way he'd been taught, and then he launched himself at the creature.

It was not unlike fighting the dragon. Fenris fought what he imagined was the creature's face, slashing at the stone and severing or damaging magical bindings wherever he could. He could see Hawke darting in and out of the creature's reach, leaping to place a dagger where it would do the most damage.

Then the creature pulled its limbs together and began to make a noise, a horrible noise that reverberated around the chamber and shook Fenris so soundly he could only stand there, struggling to stay upright as the relentless sound assaulted him.

He felt a steely grip on his arm and then he was being pulled, away from the noise behind one of the great pillars. Suddenly the noise became muffled, and he regained control of his arms and legs, almost collapsing. Hawke gave him a quick glance, then turned back to the creature.

By the time they felled the great monster, he was bleeding from at least five separate places, Anders too exhausted to even patch him up. Hawke was limping and bloody also, and Merrill could hardly walk. Still, they wanted to get away from the pile of stones that had been the rock creature as quickly as possible.

"Over here," said Varric, and they all limped towards him. "Looks like this is where they kept the good stuff." Hawke and the dwarf quickly set to the task of looting valuables, among them a great brass key which just happened to fit a small door at the back of the room. They stepped through the door and found themselves on a familiar road.

"This looks like the way out," said Varric. "If we're unlucky, we'll be back to Kirkwall within a week."

"And if we're lucky?" asked Hawke.

"Then we stumble over Bartrand's corpse on the way."

They all laughed, a little hysterical, and began the long walk back.

* * *

"Hello, Hawke," said Fenris, opening his door into the dark street to see her standing under the streetlamp nearest his door, haloed in the glow like a fairy in glitterdust.

"Hi Fenris," she said, stepping forward. She hadn't knocked yet, but he knew to expect her, on this evening.

They walked together through his mansion, a layer of dust heavy under their feet. He watched her look around at the torn tapestries, the scorched carpet, the overturned furniture. In three years he had not moved a thing, except to occasionally clean out the fireplace and a small part of the kitchen where he made his meals.

It wasn't that he liked the mess, the disorder, but it suited him. It suited him on the nights when it felt as though he was a wild creature, pacing through the dark, avoiding the moonlight, unable to sleep or think.

Hawke settled into her favorite chair and set a bottle of wine on the table next to a few others he had pulled from the cellar.

He uncorked a bottle and took a long drink, than handed it to Hawke.

"Happy anniversary, Fenris," she said, and took a few swallows.

They passed the bottle back and forth for a while, not saying anything, staring into the flickering flames.

"Tell me, Hawke," Fenris said at last, "what are we celebrating?"

"Your escape," said Hawke, the drink making her cheeks ruddy and her eyes soft. "Your freedom."

"Is that worth celebrating?" said Fenris.

"It is to me," she replied, and the intensity of her gaze caught him off guard, as it always did. He felt a familiar ache in his chest as he looked on her, dressed in only soft linen pants and a long tunic, no armor, sprawled in the wide soft chair.

"I try to put my past behind me," he said, turning away from her, back to the fire. "But it refuses to stay there."

She looked at him, her eyes black beneath dark lashes. "It is not easy to let go of something like that," she said.

"You realize it's been three years? Three years since Danarius last sent someone after me."

"I know," she said.

"The ritual that gave me these markings, it burned away my memory. Whatever I was before…whoever I was before, that man is gone."

She nodded. "But who you are now," she said, "I…like that man very much."

"I am an elf," he said, sitting up to look directly at her. "An escaped slave, living in a borrowed mansion. None of those things bother you?"

"No," she said. "Why would they?"

"You are an unusual woman, Hawke."

"I get that a lot."

* * *

"It's early, Hawke," said Fenris. "And my head is pounding. Why are we going to Sundermount?"

"Because," said Hawke, a hand pressed to her forehead indicating her hangover was just as painful, "Merrill makes an amazing hangover cure. But she needs more elfroot. So we're going digging."

Fenris sighed and trudged after her. They'd finished a few more bottles of wine the night before, celebrating, and Hawke had fallen asleep in her chair. She'd looked so peaceful, so contented, that he hadn't woken her, but let her sleep through the night at his place.

The end result being that the sun fell in her eyes and woke her at seven, and then she woke him to go on this foolish expedition.

Oh well.

The sound of muffled voices made Fenris pause. "Hawke," he said, his voice low.

She looked up to see a group of armored men on a short hill above them.

"Hand over the slave and no one gets hurt," said the leader.

"I see no slaves here," she said. "Only slaver filth who risk quite a lot by testing my patience."

"Get the slave," said the leader, and the men poured into the valley, surrounding Hawke.

"I am not your slave," said Fenris, his body glowing blue as he drew power from his markings and charged into the middle of the group. He swung his sword in a large arc, severing the leader's head. The other slavers scattered, disorganized, and Fenris and Hawke hunted them down, one by one, until only a single mage was left alive. He had fallen to the ground trying to run away, trembling. Fenris put a knee in the man's back and yanked on his hair, jerking his head upward.

"Where is he?" said Fenris.

The man blubbered something incomprehensible, and Fenris slammed the captive's head into the ground. Blood flowed from his nose and forehead.

"Where is he?" said Fenris again.

"I…a woman hired me," said the man. "A magister. They're hiding in some caves to the north. I'll show you the way."

"No need," said Fenris. "I know those caves." He put a hand on either side of the man's head and with a sickening twist, broke his neck.

"Hadriana," said Fenris, standing. The loathing in his voice was so powerful it hung in the air.

"Who is that?" asked Hawke.

"Danarius's apprentice," said Fenris. "A black-hearted witch. She made my life miserable in any way she could."

"Time to return the favor," said Hawke, her lips curving up into a smile so different from the one she usually gave him—and he could see why people were sometimes wary of her. There was a definite bloodthirsty gleam in her eye.

"The caves are this way," he said.

"We need backup," she replied. "Let's pick up Anders and Merrill."

With some reluctance, Fenris followed her back to Kirkwall. They ducked down the cold narrow passageway into Darktown, walking along the grimy concrete streets to Anders's clinic.

"Want to kill some slavers?" said Hawke, giving Anders a bright smile.

Anders glanced suspiciously at Fenris, but when his eyes met Hawke's, they were warm and welcoming.

"When you put it that way, who could say no?" he replied.

She rewarded him with a smile and Fenris felt something bitter and cold squeeze in his chest. He had no right or reason to believe her smiles were for him alone, but it bothered him when she directed one so wide and warm at someone else. Especially if that someone else was Anders.

They walked back into the sunlight, deceptively bright despite the storm Fenris felt brewing inside.

Merrill was as sunny as the weather this morning, grinning at Hawke, green eyes wide and lovely.

"Good morning, Hawke," she said, throwing the door wide. "Good morning, Anders. Good morning Fenris."

"Want to help us kill some slavers?" Hawke said.

"Oh, yes," Merrill replied. "They are scum, aren't they? I'm all set to go, I was just on my way to market to buy some fruit."

"Good," said Fenris. "We should hurry, or we may lose them."

Fenris could feel his heart thud in his chest as they walked towards the caves where—if luck was on his side—Hadriana would be waiting for him.

The caves led into a strange, dwarven-looking ruin. In the first room, a corpse lay on a stone slab, the body mutilated, blood everywhere, still fresh. It was a ritual killing, had to be, the markings too even and elaborate for a battle. No doubt Hadriana was gathering whatever sources of power she could to face him.

_It will not save her, _he thought.

They pushed open a heavy stone door to reveal a large square room. In one corner, a group of men were holding back a young elf, who struggled against their arms.

"Help me," she called to the intruders, who wasted no time attacking the armored men. When they all lay dead, Hawke helped the young elf off the ground.

"Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" Hawke asked.

"No, but papa…" said the elf, tears in her eyes. "The Mistress said someone was coming for her, that she needed power…"

"Of course," said Fenris.

"Are you going to hurt her? Please don't! She'll be so mad if you hurt her," said the elf, turning to Fenris.

Fenris looked at her with loathing. He wanted to shake her, to slap her, to beat the servitude, the cringing, appeasing attitude out of her. He had been that way too, just like her, and he hated himself for it still.

"Don't worry," said Hawke. "She won't be angry…she'll be dead."

"But…what about me?" said the elf. She turned to Fenris. "Are you my Master now?"

"No," Fenris almost shouted, taking a step back from the elf as though he could outdistance her offer. "No."

"Please…I'm a good cook and I can clean. I'll do anything. I have nowhere to go."

"Go to Kirkwall," said Hawke. "Ask someone to show you the way to the Hawke estate, and when you get there, tell them Sarah sent you, that you work for me now."

Fenris scowled, anger curling in his chest, a feeling so familiar he no longer noticed it. He barely heard the slave thanking Hawke and running from the room.

"I didn't realize you were in the market for a slave," he said to Hawke.

She frowned at him. "Is that what you think?" she said, her voice trembling. "I gave her a job, Fenris."

"Oh," he said, relief running through him like ice water, dousing the flames of his anger. "Oh…that's good then."

They stepped through another heavy stone dwarven door into a large chamber where Hadriana's voice echoed.

"You've made a grave mistake in coming here, slave," she called, summoning magic to her, surrounding herself with an impenetrable bubble as several slavers burst in the door.

"Not as much as you have, witch," called Fenris, his fury echoing around him. His skin glowed blue as he summoned his reserves of power and charged the magister.

Hawke pulled from her belt a small flask, which she threw into the middle of the group of slavers. The vial burst and they stood, stunned as a foul green gas choked them. They stood only for a few seconds, but it was more than enough time for Varric's arrow to still a beating heart, for Fenris's blade to split a skull, for Hawke to draw a razor sharp dagger across a throat. The slavers fell, quickly.

Fenris advanced on Hadriana, blade raised. She tried to run and fell to the floor, scooting backwards, beautiful panic on her face.

"Stop!" she cried, hands extended in front of her as though they could save her from his blade. "You do not want me dead."

"There is only one person I want dead more," said Fenris.

"I have information!" said Hadriana. "I'll trade it for my life!"

"What?" Fenris almost laughed at the pathetic plea. "The location of Danarius? A lot of good that'll do me. I'd rather kill his favorite student."

"You have a sister!" said Hadriana. "Give me your word you'll spare me and I'll tell you where she is."

A sister?

_The bitch lies to save her life_, he thought. Still…

"You have my word," he said, leaning down so his face was inches from hers.

"Her name is Varania," said Hadriana. "She serves a magister!"

"A servant, not a slave?" said Fenris, hoping beyond hope.

"Not a slave," said Hadriana.

Fenris nodded. Hadriana's dark eyes relaxed for a second. He took a deep breath and calmed himself, drawing on the power he knew to be within him, and plunged a fist into her chest, taking her beating heart in his hand.

It was not as perfect as his dream. It did not change anything, her slumped corpse did not fill him with relief or happiness. He was simply empty, used and useless.

_A sister?_

"We are done here," he said, turning away from Hawke's piercing eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she said.

He spun so quickly she blinked in surprise. "No," he said, his voice loud, almost snarling. "No, I don't want to talk about it! What does it matter? Even if she told the truth, Danarius certainly knows what she knows! It could be a trap. It almost certainly is a trap."

He turned away again, fury suddenly spent, the haunting emptiness come again to replace it.

"But it doesn't matter. All that matters is I finally got to crush this bitch's heart. May she rot and all other mages with her."

"And here I thought you were unreasonable," said Anders, his tone full of barely contained anger.

"I'm sorry," said Hawke, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't comfort me," he yelled, shrugging her off. "I…" he saw sadness in her dark eyes and it made him pause, as though the bottom of the world had suddenly disappeared beneath him and he had dropped somewhere dark and strange.

"I need to go," he said, walking as quickly as he could away from them, away from her. He heard Anders's voice as he left, murmuring, something about "crazy" and "can't trust" and Hawke's soft tone answering, but he couldn't make out the words. He walked faster, as the walls of the cave seemed to close in on him, dark and suffocating.

He burst out into daylight, the sun mocking and bright in the sky. He walked further along the coast, seeking out another cave, well hidden from anyone who did not know exactly where to look. He had camped there when he was running from Danarius, before he had a mansion to call his own.

He ducked inside the cave, and darkness enveloped him, comforting. He sat with his knees tucked to his chest and for a long time he did not move, staring into the dark nothing.

_A sister…_


	9. Memories

It was late when Fenris returned to Kirkwall, but he slipped quietly through the Hightown streets to Hawke's estate.

He scaled the wall and found himself in a beautiful garden, a large willow tree hanging over rows of flowers carefully cultivated. Small lanterns hung from short posts, giving the garden an unearthly glow.

He climbed the lattice on the side of the house and pulled himself up onto Hawke's balcony. Light spilled out from her glass doors, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust. He knocked, soft, tentative.

Hawke was wearing a red robe that fell down to her knees, tied around her waist with a silk sash. Her hair was mussed and lovely, and her eyes softened and brightened when she saw him outside her door.

"Come in," she said.

Fenris stepped in the room and gave her a small smile, his eyes quickly returning to the floor.

"I wanted to apologize," he said, practiced words stumbling quickly from his mouth. "I took my anger out on you, undeservedly so."

"It's okay, Fenris," said Hawke, her tone warm. It was always warm like that when she said his name. "I understand."

"Good," he said, suddenly awkward, at the end of his rehearsed speech. "Good, I'm glad." He turned to the window and took a step forward when he felt a warm hand on his arm.

It was so unexpected, her touch, and it sent such an intense current through him that he spun around to face her, instinctively drawing his power to him as though he were about to begin a battle. He pushed her backwards, against the wall, meaning to push her away. Her breath caught in her throat, the little sound sweet and sexy all at once and then she kissed him.

Her lips were warm and wet against his own, her body soft and yielding as she pressed insistently against him.

When they broke for air, her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing hard. She bit her lip and looked at him, eyes hopeful, delighted. He pulled off his gauntlets, letting them fall to the floor where they would, and she tilted her head, questioning.

He answered her with another kiss, as passionate as the first one. She pulled the sash on her robe and it fell open, revealing a soft, lacy white gown that came to her mid-thighs. She let the robe fall to her feet.

He couldn't help it, couldn't stop his hands from reaching for her. He wanted, needed to touch her, skin so warm beneath the thin covering. He squeezed her breast, surprised at the way his fingers sank into her flesh. He could feel her nipple harden under his touch.

_So soft. So different…_

His other hand went to grip her hip and pull her roughly against him. Her lips landed on his neck and began to kiss him, insistently. She traced a path up to his ear, and he gasped, heat traveling directly from his ear to his groin. She felt his response and ground her hips against him.

She pulled away just a bit and he could feel her fingers running over his armor until they found the fastenings. She was nimble and quick, and in a matter of seconds she had removed his chestplate. Her hands went to work on his greaves, and when they came off he froze.

His markings covered his entire body, winding their way whimsically up his legs, curling at his hips, and then making half circles across his torso like rib bones. He stood before her, naked, as he might stand before a firing squad, and her eyes traveled over his entire body, dark, intent.

"I…must look strange to you, with all my markings," he said, his voice soft, shaky.

"You look very good to me," she replied. Her voice was deeper than usual, thick. "Feel what you do to me." She took his hand and slid it between her legs. She was wearing nothing underneath her nightdress, and he could feel how wet she was, how slick and hot beneath his fingers. He slid one inside her, just a bit, tentative, and watched her face.

She moaned and thrust her hips against his hand. He pulled his hand away and pushed her onto the bed. She let him guide her.

He was gentle, but definitely in charge, and it was immensely liberating and exciting. He put his fingers back, slipping two inside her, thrusting. She moaned and panted, and he watched her, proud that he could be the one to make her feel such pleasure.

She looked up at him, hair falling around her head, black on the white pillow.

"Please, Fenris," she said, and the two words made him shudder with desire. "I need you."

He knelt between her legs and she guided him towards her entrance. He teased her with his tip, taking his time, making her skin flush, hearing her cries of pleasure. When he plunged into her, she was so warm and tight around him he nearly lost control right there. She wrapped her legs around his waist and urged him deeper, harder, until they were both overcome.

They lay together, sated.

Fenris drifted, his fickle mind taking him back to Tevinter, to the past, where Danarius knelt over him, a mocking smirk on the lined face. Danarius's hands were nothing like Hawke's, they were large and dainty, the long white fingers of a man who has never hefted a sword or a shovel.

Fenris shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but the memory advanced on him, and he fought it, because it seemed it would be sacrilege to think of such things now, as Hawke lay drowsily by his side.

Danarius's eyes seemed to mock him, even the ceiling above Hawke's bed seemed to contain the disgusting smirk in the curves of the wood.

The memories assaulted him. He was no longer a free man, a powerful warrior, Hawke's lover. He was a slave again, helpless and passive under Danarius's searching fingers. His hands were always cold, and he liked to conjure up bolts of painful electricity if Fenris did not comply with his demands quickly enough.

He looked at Hawke, who nuzzled up against his shoulder and made a small, contented sound.

He ran a hand through her black hair, trying to anchor himself in the moment, but it was not enough to hold back the tide of memories. He could smell Danarius's sweat and the perfume he scented his sheets with, and it made him sick. He could almost feel the rough brocade beneath his back. It felt as though every inch of his body was dirty, contaminated. He could feel anger rising in him, gathering slow strength until it was incredibly difficult to lay still, to not lash out, hit something, anything.

Hawke was not enough…not enough to banish his demons, to tether him to his fragile freedom.

_I cannot tell her, _he thought. _I can never tell her. And if I don't go now, I may lose control._

He dressed, quickly, not wanting to be nude any longer. On a strange impulse, he picked up the red sash from her bathrobe and ran the silk through his fingers. He tied it around his wrist, thinking with a smile of Hawke unable to close her bathrobe and hide her lovely body. He turned back to her.

Hawke sat up and looked at him. The blanket pooled around her waist, her breasts full and soft in the candlelight.

"You're beautiful," he said, his voice more mournful than he'd meant it to be.

"Was it that bad?" she asked.

"It was fine," he said. He sat on the bed and took her hand. "No, that is insufficient. It was wonderful, better than anything I could have dreamed."

"Is it your markings?" she asked, running her hand up his arm, her fingers tracing the white tattoo. He stood and stared into the fire.

"It's not that."

She tilted her head to the side, a question, but said nothing.

"I…I can't do this," he said. "When we are together…I start to remember," he turned away from her again, away from the large dark eyes that would not let him be. "It does not matter."

"We can work through it, whatever it is," said Hawke.

"No…" he said, "no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I just wanted to be happy, just for a little while."

"Were you?"

"I'm sorry, Hawke. I feel like such a fool."

As he walked away, out her balcony door, he could hear her call his name, once, softly. He did not look back.


	10. Revenge

There were strawberries at the market the next morning, red and ripe and gleaming, drops of dew clinging to the taut skin. They were beautiful.

They were Hawke's favorite, and Fenris bought them without thinking.

And once he had them, he had no choice but to stop by the Hawke estate. He stood there, looking at the door, anxiety beating in his chest.

_I am a coward and a fool, _he thought. Would Hawke even want him by her side after he'd run away the night before? Or would she be done with him, and wish him to leave?

He squared his shoulders, feeling the weight of the greatsword on his back. He was not going into battle, but the heavy steel comforted him nonetheless. He knocked on the door.

The elf slave, _no, servant, _opened the door.

"Hello," she said, smiling timidly. "Come on in."

He stepped into Hawke's luxurious entryway. He could see a desk full of messy papers, and a strange magical apparatus on another table.

"You're here to see the mistress, I assume?" said the elf. He nodded.

"She's in the dining room." The elf…what was her name? led him to the dining room where Hawke was sitting in her red bathrobe (tied with a different color sash) eating and looking over a huge stack of papers.

Years of discipline allowed Fenris to stay still, to give away none of the emotions that swirled in his chest, chief among them fear—fear of her rejection. But when she looked at him, she gave him a dazzling smile.

"Hi," she said, a little shyly.

"Good morning," he replied.

He stood a little longer, helpless, as she looked up at him from under her long lashes, her eyes dark and impossible to read.

"I got these for you," he said, clumsily setting the strawberries on the table.

"Strawberries!" said Hawke. "Oh, my favorite! Thank you!" She gave him another one of those smiles, and he relaxed, slid into the chair next to her.

She turned to Orana, who was standing by the door, waiting to be dismissed no doubt, but of course Hawke would have no idea.

"You're welcome to sit and have breakfast with us, if you like," said Hawke. Fenris noticed how careful she was to never give Orana orders, but rather suggestions and requests. "Have you ever had strawberries before?"

Orana shook her head and sat at the table, looking at him with wide eyes. He knew how strange the situation must seem to her, sitting down at the table to eat a rare food with the mistress…

"Thank you," said Orana, taking a single strawberry and eating it slowly, meditatively, eyes closed, as though it was the only piece of fruit she'd ever eat.

Hawke smiled at her, popping another strawberry into her mouth, and Fenris couldn't help but watch her lips, so soft and red—all the more irresistible now that he knew what they felt like.

"Have as many as you want, Orana," said Hawke. "They're delicious, aren't they?"

The overwhelmed elf could only nod, her eyes large and wet.

"I'll be right back," said Hawke.

Orana looked at Fenris, her eyes almost panicked.

"Is she…is this a trick?" asked the elf. "Is she real?"

Fenris nodded. He knew what Orana meant. "She is very real," he said. "She's not tricking you, Orana, I promise. She is just a very kind woman."

"She said I'm not a slave anymore," said Orana. "She's going to pay me. And you should see the room she gave me! It's so big, with a giant bed I can have all to myself. But…"

"But you don't know how to be anything other than a slave," said Fenris.

Orana nodded. "If I mess up, disappoint her…I was always screwing up, making Hadriana angry."

"You'll learn," said Fenris. "She's a good woman. She won't be angry if you make mistakes while you're learning the ropes."

Hawke walked back into the room, carrying a small pouch in her hand.

She tilted her head at Orana. "Did Hadriana ever have you go shopping for her?" she asked.

"Oh yes," said Orana, her tone eager and sweet. "All the time. I bought all the groceries and sometimes even her clothes and things."

"Good," said Hawke. "So you know how to shop." She handed Orana the small pouch. "This is an advance on your pay for this week," she said. "I thought you might want to buy some clothes and things, to make you feel more at home."

Orana smiled, her eyes glimmering. "Thank you, Mistress," she said. "You are too kind."

"Just call me Hawke, please."

"Thank you, Hawke."

"Bohdan is also going to the market," said Hawke. "He can show you where it is."

Orana all but ran from the room.

"Did I do something wrong?" said Hawke, when she was certain the servant was out of earshot. "She looked like she was about to cry."

"It's a little overwhelming at first, being free," said Fenris. "And she has been through a lot, lately."

Hawke nodded. "I don't really know how to treat her. I've never had a servant before."

"You'll do fine," said Fenris.

Hawke smiled. "I'm glad you think so," she said.

After a short bit of silence, Hawke cleared her throat. "I wanted to talk about last night," she said, with an uneasy smile. The fear came back to Fenris in a cold wave. He clenched his fists under the table.

"I apologize," said Fenris. "I did not mean to…"

"It's okay," said Hawke. "I shouldn't have…pushed you. I feel like an idiot. I just…I like you a lot, Fenris. But that doesn't mean anything."

"It does," said Fenris. "It means a lot to me. You are so beautiful, Hawke. But…I just…I can't be with you."

Hawke looked down at her hands, still in her lap. Fenris could see sadness on her face, and it made his chest ache so powerfully he wanted only to wrap her in his arms and kiss her until she smiled again. But he could not kiss her without remembering other kisses, other lips, cruel and cold. And he did not deserve to kiss her at all.

"Will you still…will you still stay with me?" said Hawke. "Will you still fight with me? Can we still be friends?"

"I will remain at your side for as long as you will have me," he said.

She smiled, then, though her eyes were still sad.

"I just want to ask one question," she said.

"Anything."

"Is it Isabela?"

Fenris frowned, confused. "Is what Isabela?"

"Is that why you won't sleep with me? Would you rather have her?"

Fenris almost laughed. She was _jealous_. And that meant…it must mean she still wanted him. "No, no, of course not. You have no competition, Hawke."

Hawke stood up, taking a deep breath. "Friends, then?"

"Friends."

"Good. I'm going down to Lowtown to see Varric," she said. "Want to come with?"

He nodded. They walked in silence through the sunny streets, the dust a soft yellow in the light, kicked up by their boots. Varric was in his suite in the Hanged Man, lounging in a large soft chair. He stood up when Hawke walked in, and Fenris could immediately see something serious was on the dwarf's mind.

"Here, Hawke," said Varric, gesturing to the chair beside him. "You want to be sitting when you hear this."

"Okay," she said, taking her seat. Fenris sat next to her.

"I just got word that Bartrand may be back in town," said Varric.

"He would be foolish enough to come back here?" said Fenris.

"He'd do anything for a bit of gold, and this is the best market for the idol he stole," said Varric. "I think he's staying in his Hightown mansion. Whaddya say, Hawke? You ready to go get him?"

Hawke nodded. "I've got some questions for him," she said, a smile curling on her lips.

They picked up Anders, who was also eager for a bit of revenge, and Merrill.

The moment they stepped into the plush entryway to Bartrand's mansion, they were attacked by several guards.

"Whoa, whoa, we're relatives," said Varric, but the guards did not seem to hear. They ran forward, weapons raised, and Fenris could see a manic gleam in their eyes, even as his friends cut them to pieces. They did not seem to feel the pain, attacking even with a severed limb or gut wound.

"What's with these guys?" said Varric, examining the corpses. "What did Bartrand do to them?"

No one answered.

They moved forward through the mansion, cutting down more guards, until a dwarf with a long brown beard ran forward.

"You've got to stop him," said the dwarf to Varric. Hawke raised her weapons, but Varric held up a hand.

"I know this guy," he said. He turned back to the dwarf. "What's Bartrand up to this time?"

"It's horrible," said the dwarf, shuddering at the recollection. "He made some of the servants eat lyrium. And he cut parts off of them…while they were still alive. Stop him. You've got to stop him!"

"We will," said Hawke, straightening. "You're safe now."

"No," said the dwarf. "Nowhere's safe now. Nowhere."

"Time to end this," said Varric.

Bartrand was standing near the back of his study. A pile of bodies was stacked behind him. The blood on his hands was somehow still fresh and he wore a madman's grin when he turned to them.

"The song!" he cried. "The song! I'll make your blood and bones sing the song for me."

He lunged at them, and Hawke ducked to the side just in time. Fenris hefted his sword and swung, but Bartrand was fast. Several more guards burst in the door, some with crossbows, others with swords.

"Let's dance, Bianca," said Varric, a grim smile on his face.

The guards were crazed, just like the others, and reckless, running straight at Fenris. Merrill cast a strange spell that rooted them to the ground, as they struggled against their own blood. He was able to cut them down two at a time.

And then he heard a strangled cry from behind him, and saw Merrill slump to the floor, Bartrand behind her with bloody daggers.

"You bastard," roared Varric, and a bolt from his crossbow pinned Bartrand to the wall through one shoulder. He loosed a second one to pin his other shoulder to the wall and the dwarf struggled there, held up by two arrows, gasping and bleeding and still trying to fight.

Anders ran to Merrill, conjuring up blue light, and the rest of the party watched him, anxious but quiet.

After a few tense minutes, Anders relaxed. "She'll be alright. Just let her sleep for a few more moments," he said. Everyone let out a breath.

Varric looked at Merrill where she was laying, curled on the floor, then walked over to his brother.

"What happened here, brother?" he said, so softly Fenris could hardly make out the words. "What did you do?"

"The idol," gasped Bartrand. "The song. I shouldn't have let it go. I need it."

"He's been driven mad," said Hawke. "Anders, can you do something?"

Anders cast a few more spells, soft and pulsing blue. "I can help him regain his senses for a short time, but the idol has corrupted him beyond healing," he said. Varric nodded.

"I…I can see," said Bartrand. "Brother, please, I'm sorry. Make it stop. I needed to hear the song, and what I did…oh Maker, what did I do?"

"I don't know," said Varric. He pulled the arrows out of Bartrand, and the dwarf slumped to the floor, unaware of the pain or bleeding. Anders healed him, quickly, then stepped back.

"We'll wait outside," said Hawke. Anders picked up Merrill and they waited outside. After a few minutes Varric came out.

"Can you put him to sleep?" he said to Anders. The mage nodded. They returned a few minutes later.

"I tied him up and Anders put him to sleep. I'll arrange for someone to take him somewhere, to look after him."

Hawke nodded. "You're a good brother, Varric," she said.

"Let's get a drink, or twenty," said the dwarf.

They said nothing on the way to the tavern, but once within, Isabela greeted them with enthusiasm. A young man with pasty white skin was standing next to her, wooing her with some of the most awful lines Fenris had ever heard.

"Shoo," she said to him. "My friends are here." She took one look at their somber expressions and turned to the barkeeper. "I need a jug of whiskey, right away," she said, grinning. "Hawke's paying."

Those last two were the magic words, and the barkeep hurried to serve them. They sat around a large table in the corner, and Isabela poured them each a shot.

"To sanity," said Hawke, raising her glass.

"To sanity," they all said, clinked glasses and downed them.

"You guys look like you've just been to a funeral," said Isabela. "Come on, let's cheer up." She filled their glasses again.

No one said anything, they stared down into the whiskey.

"If I have to take my top off, I will," threatened Isabela.

"You would, wouldn't you?" said Merrill. "You are so fearless, Isabela. You just see what you want and you go get it. I wish I could be so brave."

"Drink up, it'll help, Kitten," said Isabela.

"It will? Okay then," said Merrill, and swallowed her second shot.

Isabela poured her another shot, but Varric took it away before Merrill could drink it and swallowed it himself.

"Don't get Daisy too drunk," he said. "Last time she puked on my jacket. My clothes are not cheap."

"I did?" said Merrill. "I don't remember. I'm sorry, Varric."

"Hey, don't worry about it," he said. "What are friends for?"

Fenris dared a glance at Hawke, who was nursing her whiskey. She was beautiful but somber, staring at her reflection in the liquid. There were still flecks of blood on her armor, despite her attempts to wipe it down before coming to the Hanged Man. He looked a little closer and could even see a bit of blood on her cheek that she must have missed. It was strangely endearing, the little imperfection.

"I'm going to head home," she said. She slipped Isabela a gold piece and whispered something in her ear about getting Varric as drunk as possible. Isabela nodded and grinned.

Fenris followed her without a word, and they walked together back to Hightown.

Hawke sighed. "And I thought my brother was crazy for joining the Templars," she said. "At least he's no Bartrand."

Fenris nodded. He thought again about his sister—if she was really real, if she was out there, somewhere, if she ever thought of him.

Hawke seemed to read his mind. "Are you ever going to look for your sister?" she asked.

"I don't know," said Fenris. "I doubt it's a good idea, and yet I want to."

"Of course you want to," said Hawke. "It's natural to want a family…a connection. And maybe she can help you remember your life before."

Fenris nodded. He had thought of that, many times.

"Danarius will certainly be watching her," he said.

"You would have to be careful," said Hawke. "But I think you should try."

They stood at the door to her estate, looking at each other, piercing glances in the moonlight. He wanted and yet…he was so afraid.

Hawke lifted her hand to stroke his hair and the gesture was so familiar, so hated… without thinking he caught her wrist before she could touch him.

"I'm sorry," she said, the sadness creeping back into her eyes. "I didn't mean to offend."

"It's not that," he said, his voice thick. "Hawke…I wish I could tell you…"

She looked at him for a long time, biting her lip. "Goodnight, Fenris," she said, and disappeared inside her home.

He walked back to his mansion alone in the dark, cursing himself for being such a fool, such a coward. But if she knew, knew what thoughts intruded his mind each time he touched her…she would hate him for it, hate him for what he'd done, what had been done to him. He certainly hated himself for it.


	11. The puppy

It wasn't nightmares that woke him the next morning, but the loud clanging of pots and pans falling to the floor, followed by a loud and imaginative string of curses.

_Hawke,_ he thought, with a smile and a strange flurry of anxiety in his chest. _What is she doing here?_

He dressed quickly and hurried downstairs. He peeked into the kitchen. Hawke was using one of her wicked sharp daggers to cut…was it bacon? and throw it into a pan, where it sizzled. He took a moment to just watch her. She hummed while she worked, and there was a bit of a sway in her step that made him catch his breath in his throat. She was wearing her armor while she cooked, and she had tied an apron around her leather tunic.

"Morning, Hawke," he said.

She turned around. "Hey, Fenris," she said. "The door was…well not exactly 'open', but I thought I'd make you breakfast. Since you brought me strawberries the other day."

"I appreciate it," he said. He locked his door every night to keep out slavers and thieves, but had given up on trying to keep Hawke, Isabela, or Varric from walking in whenever they pleased.

She gave him a smile. "I just wanted to apologize for last night," she said. "I shouldn't be so...I mean…"

It was strange to see Hawke struggling for words.

"It's nothing," he said.

"Right," she said. "Let's just pretend none of this happened. So…friends?"

"Of course," said Fenris. He couldn't explain the strange surge of disappointment he felt at the word. He had been the one to leave her, he should be relieved that she was going to put the awkwardness and the disappointment behind her, but somehow he wasn't.

"You like bacon and eggs, right?" she said. Fenris nodded.

"Good," she said, handing him a plate. "Let's eat."

"I've been thinking about what you said," said Fenris, "about my sister."

"Oh?" she said.

"I am aware of the dangers…but still, I may try to reach her."

"I think you should," she said. "It's not like you have to go to Tevinter or anything. You can try sending letters or something. If Danarius sends more slavers here because of that…well, we're ready for them."

Fenris nodded.

"So I came by so early because I was summoned by the viscount," said Hawke.

"The viscount?" said Fenris. "What did he want?"

"Apparently the Arishok remembers me," said Hawke. "He asked for me. Anyway, I was hoping you'd come with me to see him. Last time you seemed to have a way with him. You're like the Qunari whisperer."

Fenris chuckled. "I'd be happy to help," he said.

"Great," said Hawke, picking up the breakfast dishes and sliding them in the sink. "Let's go."

Fenris took a look at the mess in his kitchen and sighed to himself. Hawke was sweet and well meaning, but she was as messy in the kitchen as she was on the battlefield. In fact, his kitchen looked a little bit like a battlefield, bits of egg splattering the counter, eggshells on the floor, a bit of bacon that was somehow hanging off the cupboards…

But Hawke was already halfway out the door and he hurried to catch up to her, pulling on his gauntlets as he went.

"What's the deal with the Qunari anyway?" said Hawke. "Why don't they just leave?"

"I don't know," he replied. "My best guess is that perhaps they are on a mission of some sort, perhaps to learn about our culture. I wouldn't be surprised if they are contemplating an invasion."

"Ugh," said Hawke. "I hope not. I can just imagine having to fight off hundreds of Qunari. As though those rebels weren't enough."

They met up with Varric and Anders at the entrance to the Qunari compound.

"Isabela sends her love," said Varric. "At the last minute she remembered she had some urgent errand to run and hurried off."

"It wasn't suspicious at all," said Anders.

"Maybe she just can't stand the smell," said Hawke.

"Right," said Varric, "Can't let some Qunari offend dainty Isabela's ladylike sensibilities."

They all laughed and headed towards the Qunari leader's throne.

"Something has been stolen," said the Arishok.

"Right," said Hawke. "It's great to see you too. The last three years have been pretty crazy, thanks for asking. How have you been?"

The Arishok stared at her for a moment.

"A thief attempted to steal the recipe for our gaatlok," said the Arishok.

"It wasn't me," said Hawke. "I never steal from heavily armed giants."

The Arishok looked at her as though she was an idiot. Fenris sighed.

"I respectfully ask the Arishok why we have been summoned," he said.

"The thief stole instead a decoy formula," said the Arishok. "A poison gas that could be fatal to your kind. You may wish to…intervene before many lives are lost."

"I see," said Hawke. "Well, thanks for that, I guess. We'll be off to find your thief. Probably that stupid dwarf…"

They turned and headed out of the compound.

"Do you have any idea where that dwarf would be?" Hawke said to Varric.

"Not a clue," said Varric, "but we should check with the Coterie. We can catch them in Darktown."

"Sounds good," said Hawke. "We better get on it, before he does something really stupid."

They headed down into the dank, smelly underground. The air was stagnant and thick.

"I don't know how you live down here, Anders," said Hawke.

"It's where I can do the most good," replied Anders. Fenris rolled his eyes. "And the Coterie has not given me trouble for quite some time," he continued. "I don't suppose you'd know anything about that, Varric."

"I'm not part of the Coterie," said Varric. "They're probably just busy, you know, places to be, people to rob."

"Right," said Anders.

Varric's Coterie contact led them to a tunnel heading out towards the coast. They didn't even have to bribe her for the information—apparently Javaris had not paid his dues in some time.

They headed though the tunnel, where they were predictably set upon by angry dwarves with some affiliation Fenris couldn't quite sort out. The dwarves attacked first, presumably setting aside questions for later, and the party cut through them with little trouble. When they reached the coast, they found the dwarf surrounded by shoddy-looking mercenaries, who he promptly ordered to attack.

Fenris found himself wondering why in Thedas no one ever tried talking to them first. Hawke's companions were a force to be reckoned with when all working together and few of Kirkwall's thugs stood much of a chance.

When the mercenaries were all dead, Javaris cowered and surrendered.

"Just don't use the recipe," said Hawke. "It's not the powder you want, it's a poison."

"What recipe?" said the dwarf. "You mean the bleeding Qunari shit? I was done with that years ago. I'm just trying to get out of town—some crazy elf has it in for me!"

"You didn't steal from the Qunari?" said Hawke.

"Do I look suicidal?" said the dwarf. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get out of town. Without my bodyguards. Which _you _killed."

He stomped off in a huff.

"To be fair, they attacked us," said Hawke, as the companions trudged back to Kirkwall.

"Suicide by Hawke," said Varric. "Such a tragic end. Makes for a good story."

The sun was dipping towards the horizon when they all headed back to the Hanged Man. The walk gave Fenris a chance to think. The word _friends_ was still swimming in his head, upsetting him for no reason he could understand. So when Hawke and the other ducked into the tavern, he decided not to join them.

"I have a few things I need to do," he said, and took his leave, quickly, before anyone could ask.

He found himself thinking of Hawke while he scrubbed away the mess in his kitchen. He'd done his best not to think about that night, to pretend it never happened. But while his hands were distracted in the warm, soapy water, he let his mind wander.

Hawke's skin had been so soft, like the finest of silks, but warm and alive beneath his fingertips. He wished he had taken the time to explore her body further, to glance at and touch every inch of her so he could recreate her in his mind.

Friends. He should be glad they were still friends, glad that she had not abandoned him entirely after he'd left her that night, but he could not get rid of the bitter taste of the word. Friends. She was friends with Varric, with Isabela, with Anders. He wanted to be more, to be special to her, somehow.

He needed air.

He walked through Lowtown, striding purposefully through the middle of the street, hoping someone would attack. He was not disappointed. Several members of the gang that called themselves "Dog Lords" jumped out of the shadows, but not so many that he was overwhelmed. They had a few mabari with them and he felt bad, as he always did, when he cut the dogs down.

Afterwards, he searched the corpses for coin, and as he bent down, one of the fallen men's satchels wiggled.

How odd.

He looked closely at the bag, it was large enough to hold any number of things.

The satchel whimpered.

He opened it up and found a mabari pup, which whined and looked up at him with large black eyes. They were soft and pleading and deep, just like Hawke's eyes. He held a hand towards it, tentatively, and it licked his fingers. He smiled.

* * *

The next morning he walked towards Hawke's estate, holding the satchel with the puppy hidden inside.

Orana greeted him at the door.

"Are you looking for Hawke?" she said, frowning at him.

"I am," he said.

"I thought she was with you," said Orana, her tone worried. "She didn't come home last night."

"I see," said Fenris, a thousand possibilities racing through his mind. Was she injured? Lying somewhere wounded or dying? "I will go look for her." His even tone betrayed none of the anxiety running through him.

"Will you watch this for me?" he said, handing the puppy to Orana. "It is a gift, for Hawke."

"How cute," crooned the elf, snuggling the puppy to her chest. "Hawke will love him!"

But Fenris was already on his way out the door, headed to Lowtown. He banged violently on the door to Varric's suite in the Hanged Man, making the wooden door rattle in its frame.

"Whoa, calm down," said Varric through the door. "Give me a minute."

A sleepy looking dwarf answered the door a moment later, his hair messy, dressed in a fine red robe with gold embroidery.

"What do you need at this ungodly hour, Fenris?" he said.

"Where's Hawke?"

"Oh, right," said Varric. "She's probably still at Blondie's clinic."

Fenris's eyes must have given away his horror, because Varric laughed.

"Not like that," said Varric. "We ran into some trouble last night. Some crazy elf had planted barrels of that poison gas in the street. Hawke ran into the cloud to seal the barrels. Crazy, heroic woman. The gas got to her, but she managed to seal them all. Still, she was pretty out of it, so we took her down to the clinic and Anders said he'd probably keep her overnight to watch her. You can probably find her there."

Fenris left, his mind reeling. He felt sick, guilty. He had left Hawke, and she had gotten injured. If he'd been there, if he'd been protecting her, instead of sulking like a child…

She'd needed him and he hadn't been there.

He hurried down to Darktown to find Anders awake behind a desk, shuffling through papers. Hawke was lying on one of the cots in a corner, covered by the apostate's usual feathered jacket.

"It's about time you showed up," Anders said when he approached. The apostate was looking at him strangely, his jaw set in a firm line.

"How is she?" said Fenris, breathless from running.

"She's fine, now," said Anders.

"Good," said Fenris. He walked over to where she was sleeping, a small frown on her lovely face. He raised a hand to touch her and then dropped it back to his side.

"That gas was an interesting poison," said Anders, though the anger in his tone made it clear this was more than an academic discussion. "It affects the mind, makes people hallucinate, makes memories seem as real as life."

Anders stood and walked over to where Fenris was standing. "She said a lot of things last night," said the mage, his tone hushed, sad.

Fenris turned towards Anders but said nothing.

"There were a few reoccurring themes," said Anders. "She asked for her father several times, even thought I was Carver once or twice."

Anders took a deep breath. He smoothed back Hawke's hair, and Fenris felt the irrational urge to hit him.

"But most of the time she thought I was you," said Anders. "She spent the night begging you not to leave her."

Anders advanced on Fenris, his hands glowing.

"You are without a doubt the stupidest man I have ever met," said Anders.

Fenris looked down at Hawke. She had asked for him? Begged him not to go? It didn't make sense, didn't seem to fit with the Hawke who smiled and laughed and seemed perfectly normal and unaffected in his presence. The Hawke who flirted with Varric and Isabela and avoided brushing up against him in the tavern.

He caught Anders's wrist before the man's fist could connect with his face.

"You don't have to tell me that," he said. "I know I'm a fool. If you wish to punish me for hurting her," he dropped Anders's wrist and stood still, "go ahead. I deserve it."

Anders conjured up a ball of lightning and held it in his hands.

"It's so tempting," said Anders. He let the spell dissipate. "But…I can't. Hawke wouldn't want me to."

"I wouldn't want you to what?" murmured Hawke, opening her eyes.

"You wouldn't want me to fry this idiot with lightning," said Anders, moving to her side, a hand on her forehead. "How do you feel, beautiful?"

She gave him a wide smile that made Fenris's insides icy.

"I feel fine, thanks to you I'm sure," she said. She sat up and gave Anders a hug. "I'd be dead several times over if it wasn't for your skills."

She noticed Fenris standing nearby, his hands awkwardly at his sides.

"Hey Fenris," she said, "you missed quite a party last night."

"So I hear," he said.

She hopped off the bed, smiling at the both of them.

"I'm heading home," she said. "I really need a bath."

"I'll walk you," said Fenris. Anders glared at him, but he turned towards Hawke. She smelled peculiar, chemical, and he guessed it was the lingering remains of the poison still on her skin.

"Thanks again, Anders," she said, and they walked out of Darktown into the bright sunlight.

"I…have a gift for you," said Fenris.

"Really?" Hawke grinned, "what is it? I love presents!"

"It's at your estate," he said.

"Awww," she replied, "I can't wait that long. Tell me now."

"No," he said.

"Please! Pretty please," she tugged his arm and pouted, and he tried not to show the heat that ran through his arm at her touch.

"You'll just have to wait," he said.

They reached her estate, a clean and lovely old building, and she all but ran up the steps to the door.

Orana was sitting by the fire, sewing something, when they came in.

"Mistress Hawke," she said, jumping up. "You're back. I was worried."

"Sorry about that," said Hawke. "I got into some trouble, but I'm fine now."

Fenris spotted his gift in the corner, snuggling on a makeshift bed. He went and scooped up the wriggling bundle, and held it out to Hawke.

Her eyes lit up and she gasped.

"Is this for me?" she squealed. "He's so adorable! I've always wanted a mabari!"

"It's a she, actually," said Fenris.

"She's perfect," said Hawke, looking straight into his eyes, her lips beaming a smile at him. "Thank you."

And for that short and perfect moment, he was happy.


	12. The Fade

Hawke came by late in the afternoon, announcing herself with the soft clicking that meant she was picking the lock on his door. Hawke and Isabela never bothered to knock.

It should have annoyed him, but somehow it didn't. Perhaps he was simply that lonely.

"Hey," said Hawke, sticking her head into his living room. "I'm heading down to the Hanged Man. We've got a job, if you're interested."

"Always," he said, standing to greet her.

They headed down the Hightown streets, brushing against busy nobles in the marketplace. Hawke was silent, pensive.

"What's on your mind?" said Fenris.

"The job," said Hawke. "Do you remember Feynriel? The boy we rescued from the slavers?"

"I do."

"Remember how I sent him to the Circle?"

Fenris nodded. Hawke had sat with him late that night, asking him if she had done the right thing. It was the first time he'd though of her as a person, and not just as their fearless leader.

"His nightmares have gotten worse. A few days ago, he fell asleep and hasn't woken up. The Circle has no solution or cure besides making him Tranquil."

Hawke sighed. "I did the wrong thing. I sent him to the Circle instead of the Dalish, and now he might die because of me."

"You did the best you could," said Fenris, surprised at the conviction and weight of her tone, as though she carried full responsibility on her shoulders.

"The Dalish keeper may have a ritual that could save him," she said. "I should have just sent him with the Dalish in the first place. They seem to know much more about this than the Circle."

"Mages belong in the Circle," said Fenris.

Hawke sighed. "Things are never that simple," she said. "I just don't know why it always falls on me to be the one making these decisions. I'm not Anders. I didn't ask to be responsible for all this."

Fenris looked at her. He had never really felt responsible for anything outside of his own safety and actions. To feel responsibility for a boy they had met briefly, years ago…he wondered what else Hawke worried about. He felt a sudden urge to protect her, to hold her and whisper to her that everything would be okay.

They were silent the rest of the way to the Hanged Man. There, Varric, Isabela, and Anders were waiting for them, playing cards on one of the ale-stained tables.

The group headed down to the Alienage, and Hawke explained the ritual.

"The Dalish Keeper is going to send us into the Fade," she said. "We need to find Feynriel and help him to overcome the demons that have him in their grasp."

"We're going into the Fade?" said Varric.

"Sounds like an experience," said Isabela. "Count me in."

"I fear what a trip to the Fade might bring out in me," said Anders.

"I need you to come, Anders," said Hawke, "if you're willing. We will almost certainly need a healer."

Anders gave her an intense glance, one that made Fenris feel strangely unsettled.

"If you need me, I'll be there," said Anders.

Hawke smiled at him. "I know," she said. She turned to the others. "Fenris and Varric?" she said.

"It's about time I checked out this 'Fade' you humans are always going on about," said Varric.

"I have no desire to enter the Fade," said Fenris, "but I will go if you go."

Hawke grinned at them.

"Hey," said Isabela. "What about me? I wanna go!"

Hawke turned to the lovely pirate. "There will be demons, trying to tempt us at every corner," she said to Isabela.

"I never give in to temptation," said the pirate. Hawke rolled her eyes.

"I'll try really really hard, I promise," said Isabela. "No making deals with demons. I hear you."

"Okay," said Hawke. "Let's go."

Keeper Marethari was already inside the humble home when they entered. Arianni, his mother, was bustling around, gathering what looked like well loved wooden toys and setting them on the table.

"Greetings," said the Keeper.

Hawke inclined her head. "Greetings," she replied.

The Keeper looked over the party. "I see Merrill is not with you. Is she well?"

"She is fine," said Hawke. "She seems to be adjusting well to the city. We are all looking out for her."

"I am glad to hear it. Are you ready to begin the ritual?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," said Hawke.

"First, I must speak to you in private," said Marethari. She and Hawke stepped away into another room.

"I cannot thank all of you enough," said Arianni. "You are so brave."

"Do not worry," said Anders. "We will not let your son come to harm." His calm, everything's-going-to-be-okay tone had doubtless been honed over years of running a clinic in a dangerous place. Fenris had to admit it was pretty soothing.

Hawke returned, looking grim. "Let's get this started," she said.

"Lay down," said the Keeper, gesturing to the blankets spread on the floor that Arianni must have prepared for them. "Close your eyes and follow the sound of my voice."

As the Keeper spoke, Fenris found himself drifting, as though he were about to fall asleep, and then righting himself, as though he were about to wake up. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in a long corridor of white marble. Hawke was next to him. She gave him a tentative smile.

The others appeared out of thin air, Anders glowing blue. "Be cautious," said the mage, in a deep throaty tone entirely unlike his usual voice.

"Justice?" said Hawke.

"Anders has told you of me," said Justice/Anders.

"Nice to finally meet you," said Hawke.

"It is a pleasure," said Justice/Anders. "Let us be done with this task."

They moved forward, towards the door at the end of the hall. It opened into a stone courtyard. At the bottom of a flight of white stairs was a demon.

"Hello," said the demon, its tone deep and lazy. "Welcome."

"I don't make deals with demons," said Hawke, sighing. She looked tired.

"But…I haven't even offered one yet," sputtered the demon.

"I know that's what you're going to do," said Hawke. "Just…no. No deals."

"You don't even know what my terms are. I might be offering to make you queen of Antiva!" said the demon.

"Oooh," said Isabela. "I'd rather like to be a queen."

Hawke sighed. "Isabela," she said, her tone firm, like a mother scolding a child. "No deals with demons."

"But…" said Isabela, but Hawke cut her off with a definitive "no".

"Very well," said the demon, disappointed. "I guess we fight then. Or whatever."

They cut down the demon with little trouble. Hawke looked around the courtyard.

"The first demon is in there," said Justice, pointing to a door on their right. "Be careful. I sense a pride demon, a very powerful one. This boy's soul must be powerful indeed to attract such notice."

They opened the door, and in a fog of blue smoke, Hawke disappeared.

"Wait, where are we?" said Varric. Fenris could see all the others, but nothing else, as though the blue smoke had wrapped them firmly up into a bundle.

"The Fade," said Justice.

"I know that," said Varric. "But where in the Fade? And where the hell's Hawke?"

The rest of them shrugged. There was nothing to do for it but wait. Eventually the smoke cleared and they were deposited next to Hawke, who was looking up defiantly at a huge, black-purple demon, his spiky body shimmering in the unreal air.

"I would have given the boy everything he wanted," said the demon.

"Yeah, yeah," said Hawke. "You act like I've never met a demon before."

"Not one this powerful," said the demon. "You think you can defeat me with your loyal friends? How loyal are they, really?"

Suddenly the demon turned to Fenris, and he could feel every part of himself being pulled towards the creature.

"You think this slave would choose you over his freedom?" said the demon.

"I won my freedom from the magisters long ago," said Fenris, stepping forward, trying to ignore the tug on his mind.

"But are you really free?" said the demon. It seemed to peer into his thoughts, to see every way the magisters still held sway over him, the memories, the fear…

"I could give you the strength to free yourself, body and soul," whispered the demon. Fenris saw himself, clear, unblemished skin.

"You could destroy Danarius," whispered the demon.

Fenris shook his head, trying to free his thoughts, but the demon held on tight.

"Your mind could break the shackles of memory," said the demon, and Fenris saw himself kissing Hawke, saw her lying naked on her bed, waiting for him.

"You could have a future," said the demon, and Fenris saw Hawke holding a slender child, singing, saw a house in the countryside and his sister embroidering in a rocking chair, looking up to smile at him.

"What…what would you want from me?" he said to the demon

"A moment of your time, nothing more," said the demon. Fenris opened his eyes and saw Hawke and the others drawing their weapons. He dodged Varric's arrow, diving to the left and coming back to his feet with his sword in hand. He charged at Anders, who cast a glyph on the floor, paralyzing him in place. He struggled to move as Hawke slipped around behind him, her daggers diving into his back…

And he woke with a start, on the hard floor of Arianni's hovel. Marethari looked at him, her eyes gentle. His companions were still sleeping, their faces intent, brows furrowed.

He realized, with a shiver of horror, what he had just done. Suddenly the hovel seemed tiny, the smoke from the fireplace suffocating. He stood, quickly.

"I need to go," he said, by way of explanation, and nearly ran out the door.

He hurried back to his estate in Hightown, not sure why he was hurrying or what he was running to, or from.

He had betrayed Hawke, and for what? A demon's lies? All this time he condemned every mage and magister, only to find the same vulnerability, the same weakness, within himself.

It was too much to bear.

He sat by the fire and opened a bottle of wine, staring into the flames.

Would Hawke forgive him, this time?

He drank the open bottle of wine, and when he reached the bottom, he opened another one.

Anything to protect him from the thought of Hawke leaving him.

Without her, he would have nothing.

He was halfway through his second bottle of wine, and well on his way to being completely drunk, when she walked into his living room. He was so far gone he hadn't even heard the quiet clicks of the lock being picked.

"Hey," she said, a smile on her face. The light from the fire flickered over her soft features, her lips full and dark.

"Hawke," he said. "I am sorry. I…was a fool. It will not happen again."

"It's okay," she said. "That's how it goes sometimes with demons. That's why you have friends with you."

"I…it was unforgivable. I betrayed you."

"If it makes you feel any better, Isabela did too," said Hawke. "Really, I should have seen that one coming. She likes big boats, apparently."

Hawke sat across from him and took a drink of the wine. She was used to helping herself, here, used to the fact that he had no idea how to be a host. She didn't seem to mind.

"I'm just curious," said Hawke, softly. "What did the demon promise you? You've already won your freedom, like you said."

"Do you remember what the witch said to me," he replied, "when you freed her from that amulet? She said 'the chains are broken, but are you truly free?' I'm free but I'm not. My chains are broken but the markings on me…on my body and my mind, they are still there."

The wine was making him maudlin, making his tongue flow freely.

"I am sorry," said Hawke. "That must be difficult to live with. But you can tell me anything, Fenris. You can always talk to me."

Fenris opened his mouth and closed it. What could he say to her, to this fiercely independent, proud woman, a woman who had come to Kirkwall with nothing and had climbed by sheer force of will to the place she was now?

Could he tell her his memories haunted him, even now, even years after his escape? Could he tell her the touch of her skin brought back the lingering ghosts of other hands, other lips? Could he tell her that he could never touch someone as pure as her, not with hands and a body that had been so defiled, so used?

No. He could never speak a word of it to her, never.

* * *

Wow! More than 100 reviews! Thank you everyone...reviews always light up my day.


	13. Dissent

Fenris woke late, head throbbing from another night spent at the Hanged Man, playing cards with Varric until the wee hours of the morning. He washed, dressed, and walked downstairs to find Hawke sitting in one of his cushioned red chairs, reading.

"Good morning," she said, grinning.

"Morning, Hawke," he said. He was beginning to get used to her constant intrusions. At least she'd had the decency not to wake him.

She jumped out of her chair. "I've got a present for you!" she said. She sounded so excited Fenris couldn't help but smile a little. She dug around in the battered satchel at her feet and produced a large book.

He stared at it. It was thick and heavy, bound in rich leather, the indecipherable (to him) markings on the cover sparkling gold. It looked valuable.

"A book?" he said.

"I thought you might like it," she replied. "It's about Shartan. You know, the elf that freed the slaves." She looked at him and bit her lip, anxiety in her eyes. She thought he didn't like it.

"It's a lovely gesture," he said, hefting the tome in his hand, "but slaves are not permitted to read. I never learned."

"Oh," she said, softly. Then she looked up at him, slowly. "I could teach you, if you'd like," she said.

He was taken aback. To learn to read, to make sense of signs and books and letters…To take another step away from the slave and towards the free man he hoped to be…

"I…would like that," he said, and she grinned at him again. Her enthusiasm was baffling, but enjoyable.

"I'll get us some books," she said. "This one is way too dense to start with."

He nodded.

"But not right now," she said. "Anders needs my help with something."

"With what?" said Fenris, narrowing his eyes, suddenly suspicious.

"I guess there's this templar who wants to make every mage in the Marches Tranquil," she said. "So, you can guess what we need to do."

"Are you sure of this? Or is it a product of the mage's fevered imagination?" said Fenris.

"He might exaggerate, but he wouldn't make this up," said Hawke. "Besides, this templar is bad news. I don't know if you ever listen to the mages talk when we're in the Gallows, but I do. Ser Alrik likes to…abuse his power. Crazy plan or no, he deserves to be put down."

Fenris nodded. "It is a dangerous endeavor, slaying a templar," he said.

"I'll be careful," she replied.

"I will go with you," he said, earning himself another bright smile.

"I didn't want to ask," she said, "I know how you feel about templars, mages, and Anders. But I would feel safer if you were there."

The two headed down to Darktown, where Anders and Merrill were waiting for them at the clinic. Anders led them through dirty, winding passages that sloped downward until they were beneath Darktown, heading for the Gallows.

On the way they met a large, heavily armed band of lyrium smugglers, who, unfortunately, had neither lyrium nor much in the way of coin on their bodies.

"They must not have been very good smugglers," said Hawke, frowning over a corpse. "This one had ten silver. That's like a tiny pinch of lyrium!"

"We should keep moving," said Anders.

Voices drifted from down the dark passageway, and Hawke motioned for silence. They crept closer to the noises and peered in a nearby doorway to see a templar talking to a young mage.

"What are you doing here?" said the Templar. The mage cowered before him.

"That's him, that's Ser Alrik," said Anders.

"I swear, I was just trying to see my mama," said the girl. "I don't know what happened to her. Please, please don't make me Tranquil."

"I don't know," said the templar, grinning. "If you're Tranquil, you'll do whatever I say, no question." He took a step towards the girl, reached a hand towards her.

Anders was glowing blue, holding his head in his hands, murmuring, and Fenris realized he must be battling the spirit within.

Hawke stepped forward, into the light.

"Don't you touch her," she said to the templar.

Ser Alrik just laughed. "I've always wanted to try two women at the same time," he said. The mage let out a soft whimper and Hawke drew her blades.

"Let's play," she said. Behind her a light shone brilliant blue.

"You'll never touch another mage!" yelled Anders, glowing, illuminating the entire room. He rushed forward with his staff drawn, conjuring up a large ball of stone. The templar tried to dispel the spell, but Justice's presence was too powerful, giving Anders the strength and energy to resist. The stone hit him square in the chest, knocking him backwards and denting his armor.

Anders stepped forward, hands laced with blue light reaching out and twisting the templar's thick neck.

Then he turned towards the girl.

"Never again," he bellowed, in Justice's deep voice.

"Get away from me, demon," said the girl, scooting backwards.

"Are you like all the others, that would brand me demon?" said Anders.

Hawke stepped forward again, sensing danger. She put a hand on Anders's shoulder.

"Anders," she said, "the girl is a mage. We saved her from being made Tranquil."

"She is a creature of the Templars," said Anders. "I can feel their taint on her."

"This girl is who you're fighting to save," said Hawke. "If you hurt her, you are no better than they are."

Anders raised his arm, a strange, smoky spell gathering. Then suddenly, with a flash of light, the spirit was gone and the man was standing there, anguish on his face.

"I…oh Maker…I almost," he gasped, looking at the terrified girl on the ground before him. He turned and ran.

"Anders," said Hawke, taking a few steps after him. "Wait!" But the mage had already vanished into the darkness.

"What was that…thing?" said the girl, standing up and brushing herself off. "Was he a demon?"

"No," said Hawke, offering the girl a steadying hand, "just a troubled man."

Fenris frowned. He had to disagree with Hawke on this one. His instincts told him Anders was dangerous, and out of control. Hawke's blindness would put her in danger, someday.

They headed back to Darktown. Merrill took off for the Alienage, murmuring something about a mirror and a book. Fenris did not pay much attention. He followed Hawke back to Anders's clinic, where the mage was waiting, dark circles under his eyes.

"I'm going to talk to Anders for a bit," Hawke said, turning to him. He watched her face. She looked…sad. "I'll come by later with some books."

Fenris glared at the mage. "No," he said. "I'm not leaving you alone with him. He's dangerous." Last time he'd left Hawke alone, she'd gotten herself poisoned. He was not about to let that happen again.

Anders hung his head. "He has a point, Hawke," said the mage. "I am losing control. Slipping. You saw what I almost did to that girl…if you hadn't been there…"

"You have to hold on, Anders," she said, taking a step closer to him. She put a hand on his shoulder. "I won't let you lose yourself. Not to Justice, not to the Templars, not to your cause."

Anders raised his eyes to look at her, a burning intensity in his gaze. "I don't know what I would do without you, Hawke," he said.

"I'm always here for you," she said. "You know that."

He smiled, just a ghost on his lips. "I do."

"I just need a small favor," she said, her voice soft. "I've been having trouble sleeping. Do you have anything that could help me?"

Anders nodded. He dug around in his desk and pulled out a small vial of dark, foul looking liquid.

"Mix this into a glass of water just before bed, and you should sleep soundly," he said.

"Good," she said, smiling at him. "Make sure you do that then. You haven't been sleeping enough, I can see it in your face."

Fenris couldn't help the cold jealousy that gripped his chest whenever she smiled. She was so kind to Anders, so gentle. He had been foolish to think her kindness and sweet touches were reserved for him alone.

He followed her out of Darktown, silent, brooding.

"What is it?" she said, turning to him as they walked towards Hightown. "You look so unhappy."

"Nothing," he said. He turned his face away from her scrutiny and tried not to think about her hand on Anders's shoulder, or the smoldering look the apostate had given her.

_The bastard had no right to look at Hawke that way…_

"You think I am being stupid about Anders," she said. "You think he's dangerous and a threat to me."

Fenris nodded. "He is dangerous, and rapidly losing control of himself," he said.

"I know," said Hawke, "but beneath that, he's a good man."

_A good man…_Fenris scowled, anger suddenly bubbling through him. _A good man…_would she say the same of him?

Was she looking to replace what she had lost when he crept out of her bedroom and ended things? Was she looking for another lover?

The thought was intolerable.

"A good man," said Fenris, "what does that mean?"

"It means he tries to do the right thing most of the time. Like all of us."

She gave him a soft smile, a smile that held sadness just behind it. "Who's to say I don't cause just as much destruction as he does, trying to do the right thing?"

It surprised him, this show of vulnerability, of weakness. It was a side of Hawke he'd never really seen before, the not-so-fearless leader. It made him ache with the desire to hold her, to whisper soft words in her hair and kiss her forehead, to comfort her and protect her. It was a strange feeling, and it replaced his anger entirely.

He let his hand brush her arm, like he had seen her do so many times, and tried to say something comforting.

"You always do the right thing, Hawke," he said, "and that's all you can do."


	14. Nighttime

Sorry it's been so long since I last updated! My muse is as broody as Fenris himself.

* * *

It was late evening when Fenris sat at his desk, a candle providing frustrating and flickering light. He stared down at the book Hawke had given him, trying to practice the reading skills she'd been kind enough to show him.

The sound of someone frantically banging on his door made him freeze in place. He got up, cautiously, extinguishing the candle and moving as quietly as he could towards the front door.

The banging on his door came again, louder and erratic. He slipped towards one of the large windows at the front of the mansion.

Hawke was standing before his door, her hands shaking as she tried to pick the lock. Her eyes were wide and panicked.

He opened the door and she nearly fell into his house.

"Fenris," she said, breathless as though she had run all the way to his house. "My mother is missing."

He gestured for her to come in and she stood, awkward in his foyer while he strapped his sword to his back.

"I'm sure she's just out shopping or with some friends," he said, trying to be reassuring.

"Someone sent her white lilies," said Hawke.

_White lilies? Where had he heard that before?_

"That blood mage!" he said, remembering the last time they'd tracked down a missing woman.

Hawke nodded, eyes large and wet.

"She was last seen in Lowtown," she said, her voice trembling. She took a deep breath and he could see her forcing herself to be still, to be strong.

"Let's go," he said, and the two of them hurried towards Lowtown.

They did not speak, the only sound in the cool, crisp air was their breathing, heavy and rapid as they ran together.

They came around a corner to find the man Fenris recognized as Hawke's uncle, speaking to a young boy.

"Yeah, I saw her," said the boy. "What's it worth to you?"

Fenris touched Hawke's arm, briefly, trying to comfort. "I'll go get Varric," he whispered to her. She nodded. If anyone knew Lowtown's nooks and crannies, it was Varric.

Fenris hurried off towards the tavern, hearing Hawke's soft voice in the background as she began to speak to the child.

He burst into Varric's suite, where the dwarf and Merrill were sitting and playing cards.

"Hawke's mother is missing," he said, not bothering with any pleasantries.

They both stood immediately. "Lead the way," was all Varric needed to say. As they hurried back to the street, Fenris filled them in on the situation.

Hawke was crouching on the ground, Gamlen and the urchin had disappeared. As they approached, she lifted her head to greet them.

"Blood," she said, gesturing to the ground. "If we follow this trail, we might find her."

Merrill sank to the ground next to Hawke and inspected the red stain.

"There's something strange here," she said, staring intently at the ground. "I think this was used for blood magic."

Hawke was already on her feet, heading south. Fenris followed her as she sprinted through darkened alleys, stopping occasionally to seek out the trail of red.

The blood stains ended in front of the same foundry where they'd found the last woman's corpse. The building was large and rundown, the walls stained with smoke and soot. Hawke wrenched open the door and ran inside, Fenris hot on her heels.

The blood stains here were harder to follow, as the floor bore thousands of stains and smears from years of use. But Hawke was a good tracker and led them to a trapdoor.

Beneath the foundry was a cave, well lit and obviously inhabited. Shades and a rage demon attacked them as soon as they made their way down, an obvious trap.

Deeper in the cave there was a living area, and a nice one at that. A grand bed sat in the middle, next to a blazing fireplace. Above the fire was a large painting of a woman who looked uncannily like Hawke's mother. Scattered around the room were notes and diagrams, and Fenris scowled at them, as though they were mocking him with their indecipherable signs.

"Blood magic," said Hawke, flipping through one of the books.

"And necromancy," said Merrill, looking at another set of notes.

"We've got to find Mother," said Hawke, and without another word she strode deeper into the cave.

A mage awaited them at the end of the hallway, and a woman sitting in a chair facing away from them. A peculiar smell hung in the air, like curdled blood and death.

"There you are," said the mage. "Sarah Hawke, I presume? Leandra was so certain you'd come for her."

"Where is she?" hissed Hawke.

The mage began to babble, about beauty and love and touching the face of the Maker himself, while Hawke edged herself closer and closer to him.

And then the woman stood, and turned.

Fenris gaped at her. It was…It was Leandra's head, but stitched to a corpse, a corpse sewn together from many different parts…from many different women.

He wanted to grab Hawke, to cover her eyes, but it was too late. She launched herself at the mage, silent, deadly. He cast a shield at the last minute and Hawke stared at him through the clear barrier, dagger in hand.

Behind Fenris several shades appeared, and he turned away from Hawke to cut them down. When he turned back, she hadn't moved, hadn't joined the battle. She was still staring at the mage, waiting for his barrier to fall.

More demons rose from the ground, and Varric unleashed a volley of arrows, slowing and trapping them. And then Fenris heard a shriek from behind him. He turned to see Hawke's daggers buried in the mage's chest, blood spraying from the man.

He watched, transfixed, as Leandra struggled towards Hawke and fell into her daughter's waiting arms, watched as they whispered to each other and the horror that had been Hawke's mother finally closed her eyes.

Hawke did not cry. Her eyes were dry and hard when she stood and looked at them. She was covered in blood and she looked every inch a killer.

"I'll get someone to come get the corpse and take her to the cemetery," said Varric.

"Thank you," said Hawke. Her voice was flat, dead. "I…I'm going home."

She walked out without another word, her movements mechanical, forced.

"The poor dear," said Merrill, her voice soft.

"Damn," said Varric. "I thought the mess with Bartrand was bad, but this…"

The three of them walked back to the Hanged Man together, where they gathered in Varric's quarter with strong drinks.

"Someone needs to look out for her," said Varric. "We'll take shifts."

Fenris nodded and sipped his drink. It burned, but the warmth was fleeting, hollow.

"You first, Broody," said Varric. "Keep an eye on her tonight. Merrill will come by tomorrow morning and take over."

Fenris nodded again. He walked slowly up to Hightown, heart churning in his chest. The sight of Hawke in pain was…strange. It hurt to see her hurt, so much so he almost wished the pain were solely his. He wished he could take her pain from her, carry it himself.

_What a bizarre desire,_ he thought.

It was too soon that he found himself at the entrance to the Hawke estate. He knocked on the door, timidly, and the dwarf manservant let him in.

"Hawke's in her bedroom," said Bohdan. His face was grim, and even Sandal seemed subdued, saying nothing of enchantments as Fenris walked by.

Hawke was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring into nothing.

"I do not know what to say," he said, "but I am here."

Hawke looked up at him.

"Tell me it's not my fault," she said, softly, a whimper.

Did Hawke really believe it was her fault?

Fenris wanted to take her in his arms, whisper into her curved human ear that it was not her fault, that she was a wonderful woman, that Leandra had been lucky to have such a daughter.

He did not dare.

Instead he sat next to her on the bed, close enough to touch if she wished that comfort.

"You are looking for forgiveness," he said, choosing his words carefully, "but I am not the one who can give it to you."

She laughed, a strangled sound that became a sob.

Cautiously, he let one arm encircle her, placing an unsteady hand on her waist.

"Thank you for coming, Fenris," she said. Her voice trembled and a tear made its way down her cheek.

She turned away from him. "I don't want you to see me this way," she murmured.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," he said. The arm that encircled her moved of its own volition upwards to stroke her hair.

Her shoulders shook but she made no sound, still turned so he couldn't see her face.

It awoke a yearning in him, so powerful it ached, the desire to hold her, to protect her, to comfort her and banish every hurt she'd ever acquired.

The yearning tormented him, as did her sighs, her sobs, the softness of her skin and the way she wouldn't look at him.

He had never lost anything, had never had anything to lose.

The thought that now he might have something he couldn't bear losing, that he might become as vulnerable himself as Hawke was this night…it was unsettling.

"You need rest," he said, his voice more gruff than he'd intended.

Hawke turned back to him, her eyes and nose red, wet trails tracing the curve of her cheeks.

"Every time I close my eyes I see…her," she said. "I see what that bastard did to her."

"I am sorry," he said. He wanted to raise a hand to caress her face, to wipe away the wetness there, but he didn't dare.

They sat together in silence for a long time, staring into the flickering fire. Fenris got up and fed it another log. He did not want Hawke to be in darkness, not this night. He would keep the fire going until the sun rose.

"I'll be okay," she said, her voice soft, almost limp. "You don't have to stay with me."

"I want to," he said, returning to her side. "It's what friends do, isn't it?"

Hawke gave him a small, tearful smile, and he wrapped his arm around her again, less hesitantly this time. She leaned against him, her body as soft and warm as he'd remembered.

They sat in silence for a long time, until Hawke's breathing evened out and her eyes closed. Carefully, slowly, Fenris lowered her onto the bed, pulling blankets over her.

As he turned, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. The suddenness of her gesture made him jump, markings glowing, and pull away.

"Sorry," she murmured, withdrawing her hand as quickly as she'd extended it. She looked so pitiful, like a dog that had been kicked, and guilt welled up in his chest.

"I should be the one apologizing," he said. "Old habits die hard, I suppose."

"I just…I don't want you to go," she said.

That shouldn't have warmed his heart, but it did, a little, to hear that she wanted him by her side.

"Then I will stay," he said. He sat down next to her on the bed, leaning against the headboard. She turned away from him, burying her face in the pillow, and he could see her shoulders shaking again, though she made no sounds. He let one hand caress her hair, hoping it was a comforting gesture.

After a while her body stopped shaking, and her breathing became soft and regular. Fenris watched her sleep for what seemed like only a few minutes before he too slipped off into the Fade.

* * *

When dawn fell in his eyes and woke him, he found he was holding Hawke's hand, their fingers intertwined in what felt like an incredibly intimate embrace. Hawke was still asleep, as still as a dead woman, only the gentle whisper of her breathing giving any hint she was alive.

He pulled away slowly and went to the window, watching the sun take its place above Kirkwall. The square below the window was empty save for the occasional servant, heading to market to buy breakfast.

He heard the rustle of blankets behind him and turned to see Hawke sitting up, rubbing her eyes.

She looked at him with a strange, intense longing that flickered across her face so quickly he wondered if he'd imagined it.

"Thank you, for staying," she said.

"It was my pleasure," he replied. He walked towards her. He wanted to take her hand, or touch her cheek, or bridge the distance between them somehow, recapture the intimacy of the night before. But in daylight it seemed foolish and presumptuous, so he did not touch her.

"When I woke up this morning, it seemed so beautiful, the light falling in through the window," she said, "and then I remembered. And now it seems so wrong that I even noticed how beautiful it was."

_You are more beautiful_, he thought.

A tentative knock sounded from outside the door. Hawke opened it to see Orana and Merrill standing in the doorway.

"Oh, Hawke," said Merrill, wrapping her friend in a hug. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you, Merrill," said Hawke, leaning into the embrace.

"I brought some breakfast," said the elf, her green eyes solemn as she looked over Hawke. She wrapped an arm around the rogue and guided her downstairs, Orana and Fenris following.

The easy intimacy between Merrill and Hawke made Fenris want to growl or throw the slender mage out the window. Merrill seemed to know what to say and what to do for Hawke, and her grace made Fenris feel all the more awkward.

"I should go," he murmured as they headed towards the dining room. Hawke turned away from Merrill and looked at him.

"Okay," she said. "I'll walk you to the door. Merrill, I'll be right back."

She walked with him through the foyer. She let her hand brush his arm, gently, almost timidly.

"Thank you for staying with me, Fenris," she said. Her eyes were wide and wet but her voice was firm.

_I would do anything for you,_ he thought.

"Will…will you come back? Later?" she said, her voice timid, hesitant, as though she were afraid to ask him.

"Of course," he said. "I am here whenever you need me, Hawke."


	15. The Guardsman

It had been several months, and though Hawke still grieved in the quiet moments between battles and banter, she no longer needed him to stay with her through the darkest part of the night.

Part of Fenris was sad to no longer have an excuse to spend so much time at her side, and part of him was glad she'd largely recovered, returned to her old smiling self, though sometimes she still laughed just a bit too long and bitterly, and sometimes her smiles didn't quite reach her eyes.

Instead he spent his evenings at the Hanged Man, not wanting to return to an empty mansion, a dark night that ached with her absence, until he'd had at least a few drinks.

Fenris looked around the tavern, checking for threats, a task so automatic and instinctive he hardly notices it.

His breath caught in his throat, a strange hitch in his chest when he saw Hawke sitting at a table with an unfamiliar man. The man was wearing the armor of the city guard, laughing and lifting a tankard to his mouth. Hawke smiled and Fenris felt the strangest compulsion to punch the man in the mouth.

Instead he scowled and stepped lightly through the shadows to the stairs, walking up to Varric's room without a second glance at Hawke.

"What's with you, Broody?" asked Varric, after Fenris had lost several hands to Anders and Merrill, whose card playing skills were severely lacking.

Fenris merely scowled at him. "Nothing."

"Maybe Anders and I are getting better," said Merrill, a cheerful smile on her face.

"It's not that," said Varric, grinning.

"You need to get laid," said Isabela, favoring Fenris with a pitying glance.

"I am fine," he replied, not meeting her eyes.

"Just look at all that tension you're carrying," said Isabela, pouting just a bit. "I could help you get rid of some of it." Without any invitation, the pirate got up and stood behind Fenris, rubbing his shoulders. He tried not to cringe or pull away from her touch, but it wasn't easy. His markings burned at the uncomfortable, unwanted contact.

Fenris frowned, trying to concentrate on his cards and not on Hawke. He wanted to go downstairs and grab her, to kiss her and claim her, but he knew he had no right. He had no right to be jealous of anyone Hawke might want to see.

He left after another unsuccessful hour and a few curious, pitying glances from his companions. He couldn't help but notice on his way out that Hawke was no longer there.

His mood darkened as he walked back to Hightown. He wished for some bandits to materialize as they so often did, just so he'd have something to hit, some distraction to keep him from picturing Hawke, naked in the arms of another man.

But the walk was quiet.

Instead of walking back to his mansion, he turned and headed towards Hawke's estate.

_You have no right, no claim to her,_ he thought, but his feet took him towards her anyway.

He climbed her garden wall easily and made his way silently to her balcony. Light poured out of her room and pooled on the stone floor. He peered through the glass door. Hawke was sitting at her desk, reading some letter. But most importantly, she was alone. Something in him relaxed, relief flooding him.

He sat on the corner of her balcony, his back against the wall, watching her shadow as she moved around her room. It was peaceful, overlooking her garden, and comforting, knowing she was so close.

* * *

It was late afternoon the next day when Hawke came by. He heard the clicking of her lockpicks on the door and then it swung open and she let herself in.

"Hey, Fenris," she said, grinning. "I need your help with something."

He just nodded, grabbing his sword and slinging it across his back, and they stepped out into the golden afternoon.

"So, Aveline has a thing for one of her guardsmen," said Hawke. She smiled. "But she's a complete mess. First thing, she had me give him a copper picture of marigolds. Which baffled us both…"

"I could see how it might," said Fenris, though he didn't have much room to criticize anyone else's romantic endeavors.

"So then she had me invite this guard, Donnic, to the Hanged Man. She was supposed to meet us there, but she chickened out at the last minute. So I was just stranded there all night, talking awkwardly with that guy about how great Aveline is."

Fenris nodded. So Hawke wasn't interested in the guardsman, after all. His heart felt inexplicably lighter.

"He thought I was trying to seduce him," said Hawke, laughing. "Anyway, Aveline decided maybe if she was on patrol, she could talk to him. So we're going ahead of them to make sure the path is clear."

"I see," said Fenris.

Sundermount was pleasant in the evening, the sun dipping low enough that the air was cool and fresh on his skin. Hawke and Fenris watched as Aveline and her guardsman walked the path they'd cleared of bandits.

"A lovely night for an evening," said Aveline, and beside him, Hawke sighed.

"Maker, she's bad at this," said Hawke, turning to him with a smile.

"Indeed," said Fenris, the corners of his lips turning up just a bit.

"There's only one way this is going to happen," said Hawke, and she set her mouth in that determined line Fenris knew so well. "Life would be so much easier if people would just come out and say what they wanted. Instead it's always a guessing game, and I'm no good at it." The last few words were bitter, sad.

"It's not always that simple," replied Fenris.

"It can be," said Hawke. "Watch."

She stepped forward and headed down towards the guards, Fenris following.

"Hawke," said Aveline, alarmed. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping," said Hawke. "Just give him a kiss already, Aveline."

"Uh…what?" said Donnic. "Captain?" He turned to the redhead, whose cheeks were as bright as her hair.

"I…uh…" was all Aveline managed to say.

"I need to get back to the barracks," said Donnic, and without a second glance he hurried off.

"What were you thinking?" said Aveline.

"I was thinking you'd never own up to your feelings. So I helped," said Hawke, not at all intimidated by Aveline's sharp tongue.

"I need to get back to the barracks," said Aveline, "apologize. Make it up to him somehow." She hurried off, leaving Hawke and Fenris alone on the mountainside.

Fenris turned to Hawke, who was watching the retreating figure with a smile.

"He didn't say no," said Hawke, grinning.

"You're quite the optimist," said Fenris.

Hawke turned her head to him, opened her mouth as though to say something, and then turned away.

"Let's go see how it all turns out," she said, heading down the path.

The door to Aveline's office was closed when they arrived.

"Donnic's in there with the captain," said another one of the guards, standing nearby. "He said she's not to be disturbed."

Hawke nodded, and leaned nonchalantly at the door. After a few minutes she turned to Fenris with a wide smile.

"It sounds like all is well," she said.

Fenris returned her smile. It felt good to see her happy, to see her leaving her shell of mourning behind and rejoining the world.

"Some women have all the luck," said Hawke, as they left the barracks. "And some are just stupid," she murmured, more to herself. Fenris was unsure who she was referring to, herself or Aveline.

* * *

Fenris found himself tied to a post in the training yard outside the mansion in Minrathous, a post he knew well. Danarius's laughter came from behind him, and then there was a crack of a whip and agony traced its way across his back.

He lifted his head and gazed at the yard. Hawke stood, her black eyes piercing. Another crack of the whip and this time she laughed, a cackle from deep in her throat.

"It's no more than you deserve," said Hawke, her soft lips curled into a cold frown.

He wanted to speak, to take her hand and beg her for forgiveness, but he could not move her mouth. Danarius cracked the whip and again she laughed.

Fenris woke in a cold sweat, his back aching from the dream and the hard floor. Panic welled in his throat and chest, and he could not push it down. He dressed quickly, hands shaking as he strapped on his armor and hefted his sword.

He walked, wandered, until he found himself behind Hawke's estate once again. He climbed up the balcony and peered into the dark room. He could just make out the shape of a sleeping woman, black hair spread across the pillow, soft lips curved in a slight smile.

He sat with his back against the wall, next to the glass door, but hidden from sight unless someone stepped out onto the balcony. He laid his sword on the ground next to him, and ran a hand over the smooth steel. He looked out over Kirkwall, the town slumbering in uncharacteristic silence. He could just barely make out the buildings in Lowtown, the Hanged Man, the foundry that had been the site of so much bloodshed. Far across the lake the Gallows stood, cold and menacing.

* * *

"Fenris?"

He opened one eye, hesitantly. The sun was bright, almost blinding, and hot on his skin. The ground was hard beneath him. Fenris groped for his sword, desperately.

"Fenris, what are you doing here?"

It was Hawke, Hawke's voice, and Fenris opened his eyes to see her leaning over him. He noticed the way her soft white nightgown fell over the curves of her body, the wrinkle between her eyes that appeared when she was worried.

"You're lovely, Hawke," he murmured, blinking sleep away from his eyes.

"Did you sleep here?" she said, her voice soft.

"I…I guess I did," he said. His cheeks flushed as he realized what he'd done. "I'm sorry," he said. "I will go now."

Hawke's eyes were gentle. "Why are you here?" she said.

He groped around for an explanation, and came up with nothing.

She sighed and extended a hand, pulling him to his feet. He stretched, his arms and legs stiff and sore.

"Would you like some breakfast?" she said.

"I…don't want to cause you any trouble," he replied.

"It's no trouble," she said, her tone soft. "Oriana always makes too much food."

He nodded and followed her into the house. She looked so soft and vulnerable, no armor, wrapped only in soft linens, but she moved with the same grace as always.

Oriana gave him a smile when they walked into the kitchen. Hawke hadn't been lying. There was food to feed an army laid out on the table. The servant sat down with them to eat as though she'd always done it, smiling.

"I got a letter from the Viscount last night," said Hawke. "Qunari trouble again. Do you want to go down to the Keep with me after breakfast and see what he wants?"

"It would be my pleasure," replied Fenris.


	16. Moving On

Fenris stood outside the door to the Viscount's office, waiting for Hawke to emerge.

"Come with me," said a stern voice beside him. He turned to see Aveline beside him, decked out in full plate armor, her orange hair tied back with her usual headband.

She didn't wait to see if he'd follow, heading back to her office with long, heavy strides.

She stood behind her desk, leaning forward on the large wooden structure.

"I've done some digging," she said, frowning at him. "Your mansion doesn't belong to anyone named Danarius. It belongs to someone called Firthus, a merchant from Minrathous."

Fenris scowled. Danarius had lured him to that mansion for a reason, had set traps for him in every room. The mansion may not belong to his former master in name, but in spirit it stank of the man.

"If he comes back, there might be trouble," said Aveline.

"If he comes back, I will move," said Fenris. He was reasonably certain this Firthus was dead, most likely killed by Danarius.

"Good." Aveline looked down at her desk, shuffling papers. Fenris was surprised to see redness rising in her cheeks. She cleared her throat and looked at him, her mouth suddenly drawn and timid.

"I…that's not the only reason I wanted to speak to you," she said. "I wanted to ask you something."

Fenris nodded.

"You care for Hawke," Aveline said.

"I…" Fenris floundered for a second, thrown off by the directness of her statement, almost an accusation.

"You don't have to deny it," said Aveline. "It's obvious. Don't worry, I won't go telling stories about you two."

Fenris nodded.

"I…there's a man I care about," Aveline continued. "Donnic." Her voice softened as she said his name, her face relaxing into something lovely.

Aveline cleared her throat, her bright green eyes meeting his own. "I just…" She sighed. "I'm sorry. This isn't easy for me to speak about."

"I understand," said Fenris.

"Thank you." Aveline turned her eyes to her desk, composing her face. "Every time Donnic goes on patrol, I worry like crazy. It's all I can do to keep from following him, or changing his patrol to something safer." She took a deep breath, pressing her lips together. "Donnic is a capable man. I know that. But I can't help it."

Fenris nodded, watching Aveline. He'd never seen her so vulnerable, so unguarded. The sternness he'd come to know and respect had been set aside, though not entirely eliminated.

"I wanted to ask…how do you handle it? Hawke throws herself in harm's way almost every day. How do you keep it from driving you insane?"

"I…try not to leave her side," he said. The answer came easily, as though it were a truth he'd always known.

Aveline nodded. "I can respect that," she said. "I am glad someone is always watching her back." She turned to her paperwork again, her face set and strong. "Thank you, Fenris."

He nodded and stepped out of her office. He instinctively scanned the crowd, looking for threats, but his mind was elsewhere, dwelling on Aveline's words.

"There you are," said Hawke, hurrying to his side. She looked up at him and smiled, but her brown eyes were somber. "We've got a job."

The search for missing Qunari led them to the Hanged Man, where they picked up Varric and Anders, and then back to the Chantry.

A blonde Revered Mother came forward to greet them, a frown on her face. Fenris recognized her immediately as Sister Petrice, the one who had sent them into a trap several years ago.

Hawke recognized her too.

"Oh good," she said, her tone dry, "it's you."

"Hawke," said Petrice, frowning. "I should have known you'd come after those Qunari, heathen supporter that you are."

"And I should have known you'd have something to do with their disappearance, self righteous bitch that you are."

"I had nothing at all to do with it," said Petrice, not bothering to even try to sound convincing. "A rogue templar has abused the Grand Cleric's Seal. You can find him in Darktown."

"This rogue templar wouldn't happen to be your babysitter, would he?" said Hawke.

Petrice simply chuckled. "I'd get going if I were you, Hawke," she said. "Your precious Qunari may be in danger."

The four of them headed to Darktown, where it was a simple task to follow the trail Ser Varnell had left behind. They stepped into an abandoned warehouse space to see several Qunari tied to the wall, the templar preaching to an overexcited crowd.

Hawke ran forward, punching one of the supporters in the face when the woman blocked her way.

"Pick on someone who can fight back for a change," she called. The templar turned and glared at her, then suddenly whipped out a knife and slit the throat of the nearest Qunari. His supporters did the same to the others, red blood gushing over the crowd like a fountain.

Anders muttered something about templars always fighting those who couldn't fight back. Fenris rolled his eyes and drew his sword.

Hawke had already plunged into the crowd, and he could see blood flying and her daggers flashing in the thick of it. He cut down a few fanatics that were standing nearby, and looked up to catch Hawke again.

But he couldn't see her. She was lost in the press and swell of the mob, and he could not see even the glint of dim light on her blades. The fanatics were mostly unarmored and armed with household implements like hoes and shovels, but there were so many of them. He ran forward, to cut through the crowd and find Hawke, but the templar stood in his way.

He swung his sword in a wild arc, only half focused on cutting down the templar, the rest of his being straining to see Hawke.

The templar parried his cut with a slam from his wide shield. Fenris took a step back, bringing his blade around again. He pulled power from his markings, stepping halfway into the Fade to dodge the smaller arc of the templar's blade.

He glanced into the crowd again, but could only see a mass of Lowtown dwellers, shouting and sweating.

The templar's shield came up again, and his blade cut into Fenris's side. Fenris darted away before the blow could cut too deep, cursing. He raised his blade again, swinging to the left, but the templar suddenly cried out, then crumpled to the ground, revealing Hawke, standing behind him with a grin on her bloody face.

"Be more careful," she said, laughing, as she danced her way back into the thick of the mob. Fenris followed her, careful to keep an eye on her slender form as she danced through the group, slicing in small, deliberate strokes.

His movements were broader, wide sweeps that cut down several opponents at once. Without armor, his blade cut through the fanatics like butter, and soon they scattered and began to run.

Hawke casually tossed a few daggers, catching several of them in their flight.

"Anders," she said, "Fenris is hurt."

Fenris scowled as the abomination made his way over. He did not permit the man to touch his flesh, but held still as Anders leaned close and examined the wound.

"Nothing a poultice won't fix," said the abomination.

Fenris nodded his thanks, glad to hear magic would not be necessary. He hated the touch of magic, even if it was just for healing. It made his markings crawl just to be near when a spell was cast, magic itself thrumming along his skin was almost unbearable.

Fenris walked Hawke back to her mansion, after they dropped Anders and Varric back at the Hanged Man.

"Come in," said Hawke, as they stood at her front door. "I want to take a look at your side."

"It's fine," said Fenris. "Nothing I can't handle."

Hawke looked up at him, and he could swear he saw hurt crossing her dark eyes at his refusal. Her sadness made him feel a strange ache in his chest.

"Please, Fenris," she said, and her tone was softer. "I worry about you getting hurt. I wish Anders would just heal you."

"It's better that he doesn't," he replied. "I am not hurt badly. You have no reason to worry."

"Just let me put a poultice on it," she said. "Then I'll feel better."

Without thinking, his glance landed on Hawke's hands, short stubby fingers stained with flecks of blood. Her fingernails were short, with no adornment or polish.

Her hands were nothing like Hadriana's, they were the hands of a hard-working woman, not a decadent magister.

"If you insist," he said, following her into the house. She led him into the kitchen, where she heated some water and fetched a soft, fuzzy cloth.

"Take off your armor," she said, her tone businesslike. She averted her eyes while he unbuckled the cuirass and lifted it over his head. It felt strange to be exposed to her eyes, vulnerable and unsettling. But then she looked at him and he could see a flash of desire cross her face before she forced it down, biting her lip.

The gentleness of her movements, as she began to scrub away the blood and grime that surrounded his wound, reassured him. It was painful at first, but not unbearable, and when she had washed away the blood and began to apply the poultice, it was actually somewhat pleasant, her soft hands soothing on his skin.

He closed his eyes and focused on her touch.

And suddenly Hadriana's face floated before his eyes, her long fingers caressing his stomach, nails digging into his skin.

He could never stop himself from responding to her touch, though he hated himself for it, for the weakness of his body when she ran her hands lower, below his waist.

"Did I hurt you?" said Hawke, the alarm in her voice pulling him to the present.

He stood, quickly, the ache in his side almost completely gone. He grabbed his armor and threw it on as quickly as possible, fingers fumbling with the fastenings.

"What's wrong, Fenris?"

"Nothing," he said, his tone harsher than he'd meant it to be. "I…need to go."

It was all he could do not to run from the house, coward that he was. He found himself back in his mansion, the stained walls a comfort around him.

Hadriana was dead and yet she lingered in his mind, tainting his every move. He punched the wall, his sharp gauntlets digging into the wood.

How could he allow Hawke so close, when he was so tainted, so broken? He should push her aside, so that she could move on. She deserved so much better.


End file.
